


Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Shadowed Suspicion Volume V

by arcanedreamer



Series: Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Shadowed Suspicion [5]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Gen, Spoilers, also known as the one where all the Stand Users attack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-07-27 14:59:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 32
Words: 37,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7623226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanedreamer/pseuds/arcanedreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy the Vampire Slayer is the story of the Slayer. In the words of Giles, "Into every generation is born a chosen one... she alone will stand against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer." People like Giles were the Watchers, the English mentors of the Slayers. At least...that was the story.<br/>Buffy found a way to unlock the sleeping power within all Potential future Slayers, and now the Slayers are many. Those who survived the last battle helped to form the next Watcher's Council.<br/>Investigation of a certain stone mask sparks inquiries into the history of the ancient vampire relic, and some surprise discoveries are made along the way, including that of another legendary line of vampire hunters.<br/>Angel must finish his retrieval mission on the train.  Meanwhile, Xander and Fitz must help their new ally track down a killer...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Calling All Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel tries to find the best way to deal with the unexpected resistance on the train...

            Angel might be enraged, but he’s still the Master Vampire, and some dangerous enemy is enough to keep him thinking, strategizing rather than entertaining stupid thoughts of merely running in and tearing the body apart, because being intelligent might just keep him alive.  Or, well, the closest equivalent any vampire can come.  So while the demon is screaming, calling for blood and pain, he ignores it, remaining careful in the face of this grinning opponent.  Despite his reputation as the Scourge of Europe, Angelus rarely picked a fight he couldn’t win, so he’d had much less experience fighting strong opponents.  Souled Angel had a bit more, since meeting Buffy, since setting up in the Hyperion, helping the helpless, but he’d usually had backup or some other type of assurance, not just running into a fight blindly.

            It’s rare that he actually wishes Spike was here to back him up, but this is one place where Spike’s experience would be handy to have around.

            Still, at least he’s fresh from battle.  The Circle of the Black Thorn were _not_ easy opponents.

            He wishes he had a sword now.  But he doubts, despite the polite veneer, that the enemy will just let him rummage through the crates until he finds one, even if he uses the magic word.

            At least he’d learned a few things from running Angel Investigations.  Specifically, that finding the motivations of the opponent could be as important in identifying strengths and weaknesses as having a Wesley or Fred reading through the textbooks, identifying the demon, and finding the right weapon for the job.

            He realizes he’s been dodging mechanically, trying instinctively to find an opening but not diving for one recklessly.  That’s good.

            He recognizes the dangerous look in the man’s eyes now.  He doubts the glasses have an actual purpose—most demons don’t need them to see, after all—but they could be useful.  Makeshift weapons, right there for him to play with.  If only he could find a way.  “Finished with your little internal monologue?  Good, because I was getting bored.”

            The water now is flying like a miniature hurricane, stinging.  He glances down to see that the droplets are gouging his skin, slightly, but it’s enough to draw blood.

            And, if they were going faster, say, fast enough to act like a saw…

            He ducks behind a box of crates and hears them crack and splinter.  It’s a good thing he at least has fast reflexes.

            “Oh, I really _was_ expecting better.  But then, you’re not about to just ignore what we said before, are you?  A little this for a little that.”

            The whirlwind doesn’t go to the ceiling, which gives him an opportunity.  He doesn’t want to go anywhere near the other pipes.  He’s a smart enough vamp to realize that breaking anything to give this guy access to any more water access is a bad idea.  He’s not sure which are connected to the already broken one, but it’s a risk not worth taking.

            Instead, he jumps and grabs onto one of the highest stacked boxes as leverage, pulling his legs in as he swings so the water doesn’t cut.  The guy’s reflexes are good, but he wasn’t expecting it.  He puts all his power into the fist, and the glasses break, embedding themselves into the skin and eyes.  He hits the shoulder, and it’s enough to hear bone break, but he dodges backward, still not sure about this guy’s abilities.  At least the whirlwind has died down somewhat—enough that it’s tearing up his coat, just a little, but not enough to tear through him.

            The demon lifts a hand to his cheek, tawny eyes glinting like a hawk’s.  He pulls one of the slivers of glass out of his eyeball, ignoring the blood that comes with it.

            And for good reason, too.  The split eyeball is already trying to close together, despite the glass inside, and the vampire clearly hears the pop as a bone moves back into place.  The enemy’s healing is faster than a human’s.  But then, that’s true of most demons, even Angel, to an extent.  He’d just hoped it wouldn’t be _this_ fast.  He can’t rely on damage simply building up over time.  Whatever move he makes, it’ll have to kill immediately, or so close it hardly matters.  He wants the sword even more.  Beheading tends to work on most demons, and it’d be quick enough to beat the healing.

            Still, he’s learned a few things.  Most importantly, he’s learned that—if not caught by surprise—the demon’s reflexes match his, or are even better.  The annoyance isn’t because he’d posed a threat.  Given the healing, that’s more like a joke.  More, it’s because he’d failed to keep up.  A matter of pride, really, which is one of the few emotions that Angelus understands.  One of the few things that human and demon agree on.

            He manages a smirk.  Every piece of knowledge can help him stay alive.  “No, I haven’t forgotten.  But you said something about an exchange, didn’t you?  Why not answer the question yourself?  It’s not like the answer will matter after this fight, one way or the other.”

            His enemy laughs delightedly, the water beginning to fall like it’s raining indoors.  Angel gets the odd feeling that if the man had a cane, he’d be twirling it.  At least he doesn’t have the stereotypical moustache to twirl, too.  “Well, it’s a delight to meet a gentleman in a proper duel.  And one with such understanding, too.  I rather prefer the honorable soldier, don’t you?  Fine.  I heard about the power of the Arrow, and I was curious.  And yourself?”

            “It’s dangerous.  I wasn’t told directly, but given that no one mentioned anything about prophecy…destroy it.”  If there had been a prophecy that it was needed to destroy some ancient evil, despite the threat it posed, he’d retrieve it for the temporary equivalent of the Council vaults, but as it was, it falling into the hands of Wolfram & Hart or this unknown demon would be a problem.  “Why are you betraying your former employers, just because of curiosity?”  Wolfram & Hart might have been a little disorganized after the fall of their Earthly board of directors, but the danger posed by such a betrayal meant that the demon believed the Arrow was worth the consequences.

            He’s circling carefully behind the boxes, but apparently his enemy’s had enough of that.  He doesn’t use the water right now, just charges in with a smile and begins trading blows.  They’re enough to hurt, especially when he gets thrown into the stack of boxes, but Angel’s had enough experience being thrown into things by now and he gets up quick enough to meet the fist coming his way.  Unfortunately, by grabbing it, he realizes something else that maybe the demon was trying to conceal—it’s stronger than he is, too.  He’s still got enough to redirect the fist, letting go and using his arm to guide the momentum slightly to the right, enough for the attack to miss.  “Why did _you_ break rank?” the man asks, as if it’s all a rhetorical question.  “Because the goals of the group and the goals of the individual no longer coincide.  That’s all.”


	2. Limelight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight on the train reaches a conclusion.

            The noise is apparently enough to alert the rest of the train by now.  They’ve started moving again, despite the danger of traveling through the blizzard.  There probably will be others coming to investigate soon enough.  He has to make this quick.

            Fortunately, he sees something glinting from one of the broken crates, and executes a neat combat roll to retrieve it.  Eyes widen behind glasses, and with a toothy grin Angel dashes forward.  It’s not long to catch him by surprise, but it takes a moment before the water can follow directions and defy gravity, so he might as well make the most of it.  If he can separate the demon’s head from the shoulders, he can see if this is one of the few that can survive a beheading.  He swings, putting all his strength into it, and his opponent falls backwards, making the attack miss completely.  That kind of instinct is hard-earned through battle after battle.  “Now, _that’s_ what your reputation led me to expect,” he exclaims, not at all worried about the fact that Angel just tried to separate his head from his shoulders, and that’s not a little terrifying.

            Why would someone like that pretend to be meek, accept the aggressive corporate structure of a toxic workplace like Wolfram & Hart for so long without breaking?  That would take intense discipline, because despite the polite veneer, Angel can sense the primal destructive urge in the demon.

            With a terrifying grin, the thing gestures and water rises from the floor, parrying every blade stroke.  The pressure on the water is terrifying, if it’s enough to stop steel.  He’s lost his chance at a quick, painless kill.  Now he has to bide his time, wait for a chance, but it’s impossible to tell the stamina of a demon he’s only just met and started fighting.  He could, potentially, try to retreat, but given the words from before, that’s not going to be allowed.  And, of course, the Arrow.  Who knew what destructive capabilities it had in store?

            _The respect.  Of course._  Just as they’d joined the place for its resources, attempted to use it for their own ends, so had this demon.  _The question is, how successful was he?  More than we were?_

            A quick flick of the wrist, and the pressure on the water increases tenfold, enough to cut through the steel like it’s just butter under a butter knife.  It slices through his cheek.

            It’s more of instinct than anything.  He still has the spring-loaded stake gadgets that he’s wearing, considering Wolfram & Hart likes to use vampires as security.  The stake makes it through the man’s heart.  He falls, eyes staring, and Angel bares his fangs even as the intelligent voice that’s kept him alive for three hundred and fifty years speaks up, warning him that something’s wrong.  Nothing’s easy.  It can’t be as easy as that.  Obviously, whatever his enemy is, it’s not a vampire, because a vampire would dust.  And a human would bleed.

            Then, the whispering voice becomes a roar, and he moves back just in time to avoid the swift hand tearing the stake out as if it’s a mere splinter in the hand and aiming for Angel’s own heart.  _Josephine had mentioned vampires like the Turok Han, to which a stake is as useful as a cross.  And given its interest in the Arrow, that’s entirely possible.  But then, why the control of water?  It might be just a power-seeking demon, though Angel can’t recall any specifically with a water affiliation, but then, his mind is a little preoccupied trying to keep him alive._

            “Clever,” the man acknowledges, and barely reacts when Angel knocks the stake out of his hand with a box.  It splinters, which given the water on the floor isn’t good.  The man could manipulate it like a projectile, seeking his heart and dusting him, unless…

            He has to get the man away from any potential sources of water on the train, not to mention the fire which might end up being entirely lethal to him, never mind his opponent, which…

            He lets his demon fully loose, allows it to tackle the man and break through the wall of the train.  It’s a gamble, but if they stay where they were, it’s only a matter of time.

            He easily gets back to his feet because he was expecting the fall.  The snow swirls around, and if the enemy was further away he probably couldn’t see him at all.  The train quickly flies out of sight.

            The man looks vaguely frustrated.  Good.  He can’t manipulate the snow swirling around them, or perhaps unlike a vampire he’s actually vulnerable to the cold, or maybe it’s just harder for him.

            It’s not like Angel hasn’t had experience fighting dirty, though.  So what if the opponent is stronger?  He’d been fighting stronger opponents all the way back to when he was still alive.  Admittedly, he’s a little rusty, but…  ( _and you didn’t usually win_ , his mind reminds him, but he ignores that.)

            He manages to get the demon close.  It seems a little weaker—maybe without a source of water around, its source of strength is also gone.  If he can finish this off quickly, there won’t be a problem.  At least, as a vampire, he doesn’t have any body heat to speak of, to melt the snow…

            He hears an ominous crack, like a tree shattering, and feels something bury itself in his back.  He has an instant more of consciousness to wonder what happened before he’s gone.

            “I must say, vampires give a new meaning to ‘ashes to ashes, dust to dust’,” the demon remarks, adjusting the glasses on his nose.  “I suppose, in due fairness, I should’ve warned you that they were melting the ice and snow on the tracks using their sorcerers, and that I could use that to manipulate the tracks themselves, but, well.  You didn’t exactly give me a chance, did you?”  He’d return and at least put a cross here or something, once he’d retrieved the Arrow.  The fellow had been a good opponent, to the point that he’d managed to delve a little too deep, but really, he’d wasted quite enough of his time.

            He turns, and finds that, while the location isn’t quite correct, the law firm’s employees appear to have panicked and scrounged up enough strength to cast their spell, perhaps even from their own fear.  The man growls before relaxing, watching the burning train disappear through the portal.  “Well, the intelligent see opportunity in every circumstance.  It’s not ideal, but I’m sure my ‘former employers’ are as anxious to test this Arrow as I am.”  Well, he has time to place that gravestone, now.  And the tracks are damaged, so he even has the perfect material from which to fashion a cross.  Now, what to put…  Nothing exactly communicates the utter shock at having someone realize how much lay beneath the surface of his mask, or the further surprise at the fight that ensued requiring some effort.  On the other hand, there’s no point leaving clues like a trite B-movie villain.  In the end, at least, he can give a salute, poetical and gentlemanly.  “Here lies a clever monster who, in the end, became a man.”


	3. Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander gets one more visitor in the realm created by The Colour and the Shape...

            Xander knows he should wake.  He can’t spend forever here, but…it’s peaceful.  Calming.

            He sees a shape looming above him in the reflections and nearly freaks out before he notices who it is.  “Oh, it’s just Deadboy,” he greets, with a lot of snark and a small amount of fondness underneath it all.  Maybe.

            “I really wish you wouldn’t call me that.”  Angel sighs and sits down awkwardly, staring into the pool.  “Why Japanese, Johan?”

            Xander starts when he hears the name.  It sounds unfamiliar.

            It feels right.  “What—”

            “Your mother.  She decided on your name.  I assume you know some of it since you passed on a message about a friend of hers?”  They’re not at each other’s throats.  It’s a little weird, but he’s still peaceful, so doesn’t argue.

            “Yeah.  I mean, apparently part of my powers means I relive some of my ancestors’ memories, so, yeah, I get it.”  Xander pauses, looking thoughtful.  Smiles.  “I like it.  It’ll give me something new to tell Fitz.  Are all British people this touchy?”

            Angel blinks.  _As he says that in an English accent.  And not a cringe-worthy mockery of one, either_.  He decides not to comment.

            “So, there a reason you’re here, or did this just turn into Paddington when I wasn’t looking?”  He kicks at the water with bare feet.  He knows that someone would be scolding him if they were here (well, besides a certain vampire), but he has free reign to be childish in his own head.

            Angel smiles, sad and exhausted.  “I’m dead.”

            Jojo blinks.  “Isn’t that, you know.  Normal?”

            That earns a roll of the eyes.  “Really dead, Xander.  I don’t know how much you know, but Wolfram & Hart tried to take an Arrow.”

            Xander’s first instinct is to joke about that, but there’s a reason Pretender has been urging him to stay, and it’s not for some ordinary archer thief.  “And…you failed?”  It’s hard to believe, no matter what he usually says about the vampire.  He’d never expected Angel to be gone, always expected him to be around to joke about.  “I’m sorry.”

            That earns a smile, dangerous as a ravening wolf.  And Jojo remembers that there’s a demon in there as much as the man, possibly free to wreck whatever havoc he feels like.  At least he’s seen Pretender here, so he’s not totally defenseless.  “So am I.”  He shivers, staring into the water.  “And, of course, not as sorry as he’ll be.  He seemed like a vampire, barely older than a fledge, but he can do something with water and he’s stronger than even a Master Vampire.  He’s dangerous, Xander.”

            Xander blinks at the mention of water, but no, not everything manipulating water has to be connected back to Fitz somehow.  He would’ve sensed something about the man, besides the whole Stand thing, if that was the case.  “What would someone like _him_ want with the Arrow?”  _Is he a demon?  Probably is, if he wants the Arrow—it won’t give someone already_ with _a Stand more power.  Except…there’s something with a blond man that Pretender’s reminding me about, but then, I don’t have the best memory in the world.  I can’t remember all of this stuff.  And I’ve probably been asleep enough already._

 _…But I’m not going to leave Angel to die on his own, either._   “…Things probably would have gone a lot better if you’d stabbed yourself with it.  The Arrow, I mean.”

            “I didn’t want out of the situation _that_ badly,” the vampire states sarcastically, and that leaves him blinking for a good few moments.

            “…Not through the heart, you dummy,” he states, and reaches out to punch the other’s arm.  Judging by the wince, he’s stronger, even here.

            Whoops.

            “…Through the arm would’ve been fine.  I don’t know if a Stand can kill someone that’s already dead, but given how things went, it couldn’t have been any worse, and you could have gotten a power that could have saved you.”  He doesn’t mention the thing about the period of uselessness and almost-dying after being hit by a Stand Arrow.  He’s not sure how it exactly affects vampires, and as he’d mentioned there wasn’t really anything to lose.

            “Now he tells me,” Angel complains, earning a slight chuckle from Xander.  He smiles.

            “Take care of the others.  Especially Buffy,” Angel requests, sighing heavily.  “I would’ve liked a chance to redeem myself, especially after the mess at Wolfram and Hart, but…”  He shrugs, and Jojo shivers and tries not to let the panic show on his face.  It hasn’t been that long.  Angel can’t _go_.

            Except he’s dead, probably heading to an afterlife, so oh yes he can.

            “I will, but then, you know you never had to ask,” he states, with all the fervor he can muster.  “If it helps…you’re not the only one who’s ever done bad things for good reasons.  That’s…that’s the Scoobies all over, really.  Scoobyrific.”  That earns a smile and a shake of the head, but Angel’s looking a little more seethrough, so he needs to hurry this up.  “…And Cordy told me.  The whole ‘helping the helpless’ thing.  Honestly, I think she just needed someone to gossip to, but…”

            The vampire’s looking all tortured and brooding again.  That probably has something to do with Cordy’s death, though Xander hadn’t gotten all the details.

            They had so many to mourn.  So many to mourn that they’d never dared.

            “Hey, fighting the good fight is dangerous and doesn’t come with an insurance plan.  But from what she said, you did good.  You helped a lot of people.  Maybe it doesn’t fix your situation or ease the pain.  Maybe the scales will never be balanced.  Personally, I like to concentrate on ‘the world didn’t end’ or ‘I saved someone today’.  You, well.  Honestly, I think you like to go and look all brooding like Batman, so…”

            That actually startles a laugh out of the visually transparent Angel, but it’s good.  “Thanks, Xander.  Johan Joestar.”

            Xander turns to watch.  He might’ve hated Angel’s guts, Angelus even more so.  Maybe it was fear, maybe it was misplaced grief, but the urge to cry hits him.  _Yet another casualty of war._   He owes him this.

            Angel dusts gracefully, but there’s something different about this than all the other vampires.  Maybe it’s the exact angle of sunlight, but it looks like it glitters, just for a moment.  A falling star, the passing of a hero.  Even Pretender’s appeared, anxious and respectful, and Xander manages a smile.  “I’m not telling Dawn about that,” he says, and then the tears come, and Pretender appears by his side, sweeping him up in a hug like the ones he usually gives Willow.


	4. Why Must Rain Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johan can't hide in dreams forever. Time to wake up.

            Xander feels tears on his cheeks as he wakes.  He hasn’t done that since he was a kid, and it takes him a minute to even want to sit up and greet the cold, cruel world.  It’s disorienting.  Was Mom hurt again?  Did Dad get drunk?

            “Wake _up_ , Jojo!”  Harsh, urgent.

            Torturing him by talking about clowns.  Now that’s just cruel.  Though Dad’s speaking really funny…but if that’s the case, he should get up now, so maybe he won’t pass out when Dad starts in…

            He sits up abruptly, hitting the head leaning anxiously above him, and winces.  When that’s the only pain, it’s clear that whoever this is, it’s not Dad.  A glimpse at the (now battered) hat sitting on top of the blond hair, and he realizes, the world shifting instantly, clicking back into place.

            “You…you wouldn’t wake up.  I thought…”  Now that he’s awake, all the anger seems to have drained, and the stoic Englishman’s eyes look bright, his breathing shaky.

            Johan manages a smile.  There’s no reason to make an ally worry about him, and it’d hurt Speedwagon’s pride if he actually cried.  Next time, though, he shouldn’t spend so long asleep.  “Nope.  I’m still among the living and breathing.”  He looks around and realizes that they’re not in the hotel.  They’re in what looks to be a ratty old basement, but at least it has a cot and Xander’s slept on worse in his Watcher duties.  “What happened?”

            “It caught on fire.  We managed to get away before the police arrived.  We don’t have time to answer questions.”  He glares, but it’s not genuine.  “You’re heavy, you know.”

            “And here I was trying to cut back on the junk food,” he jokes.  “I guess we’ll just have to go running for our lives sometime soon.  It’s pretty good exercise.”

            Unfortunately, Fitz is just as good at seeing through his cheerful mask.  Something about the way Speedwagon is acting is…off, but then, he’s probably just trying to conceal his worry.  The blond takes a deep breath, looking a little softer.  “Nightmares?” The way Fitz asks, Xander’s not alone.

            He nods.  “Some of them.  Apparently Pretender can talk to people, which is nice.  Though one of them was a friend that died, so that sucks.  At least they’re not about Ahn, right now…”

            “An?” By the confused way Fitz screws up his face, he doesn’t get the nickname.  Jojo doesn’t exactly want to get into this, but this is his ally who’s proven himself, who’s nearly died for him.  He deserves an answer.

            “Anya.  Ex-demon, ex-fiancé, and ex-alive.”  The flat tone could make you think he didn’t care, like the wisecrack he’d made the first time he’d heard.  But it hadn’t really sunk in, and…well, humor was his defense mechanism, wasn’t it?  The soft look on Fitz’s face says that he’s spotted the anguish in the eyes.

            “I’ve lost someone, too.  Besides mum,” Fitz volunteers, and then the aura of pain and loss and sheer emotion becomes too much for them both.

            They sit in awkward silence for about a minute, before Xander’s had too much.  For once, he’s not going to let his mouth and his curiosity get away from him.  He notices the linen in Fitz’s trembling hands, and it’s familiar enough he knows exactly what to do.  “You’re trying to bandage your back, right?  Here, let me.” 

            To his surprise, Fitz grits his teeth and moves further away on the bed.  “I’m perfectly fine doing it on my own.  I don’t need your help, Jojo,” he growls.

            The hurt must show on his face.  He’d gotten pretty good at hiding it, but it’s either been slipping through due to lack of practice while he was in Africa, or Fitz is just really good at reading him.  He thought they’d been getting closer, been developing a bond of trust.  He’d reached the point where he’d even call the man his friend, but then, fighting always did have a way of bringing people closer together.

            The expression softens slightly, and green eyes look away, avoiding his gaze.  “I wouldn’t want to be a burden.  It’s fine.”

            Xander stares at him for one long moment, gauging how much he can push the guy, then comes to a decision.  He’ll push, gently but insistently.  “It’s okay, it’s not that big of a deal.  I’ve had a lot of practice.  Besides, if it gets infected we’ll have a whole lot more to worry about.  Shirt off.”

            It would’ve been easy enough.  Fitz had already taken off the hat and the vest, blond hair unruly from the constant presence of the hat.  Still, he’s hesitant about taking off his shirt.  Probably a Giles-like thing.  From his obviously considerable expertise in dealing with Englishmen, Xander guessed that it was probably an always-trying-to-be-proper thing, especially as Fitz was generally so worried about appearances.

            “If it’s scars, don’t worry about it.  I’ve got a lot of scars from acting as bait.  There was this one time where a Master Vampire moved into town, and he was a lot warier than the other vampires.  Which meant he was stronger and more intelligent.  Not intelligent enough to have survived as long as the Master, which Buffy killed, but still intelligent enough to be more of a challenge than your average bloodsucking fiend.  Anyway, I was acting as bait, like usual, and…”  And that, apparently, was enough to take Fitz’s mind off of this.  He still removed his shirt pretty slowly, but he was slightly worried and intrigued by the story.

            And then Xander noticed what Fitz had probably been trying so desperately to hide.  A tattoo.

            Rather like Giles trying to pretend he hadn’t been a rogue warlock in his youth.  That thought unfortunately broke through his story and made the amusement show on his face.

            Instantly, Fitz becomes indignant, trying to cover the tattoo with his hand.  As it’s on his back, though, he isn’t very successful.  “It was stupid, I know, but I was young.”  The blond is practically challenging him to make fun of him for it.

            So Xander grabs the bandages and without a word gets to work.  It’s somewhat comforting to be doing this for someone else again.  Nostalgic, too, and for most people that would be kind of messed up, but Xander hasn’t exactly had the most normal childhood and he’s come to terms with that.

            He waits until the confusion becomes uncertainty before commenting.  “I don’t know, I kind of like it,” he eventually says, staring at it for a moment before returning to the bandaging.  “I mean, I don’t know that I could ever get one.  People poking at me with things has started to trigger a ‘fight now and not get eaten or sacrificed’ response.”

            This clearly isn’t the response Fitz is expecting.  He stares at his hands helplessly, then, in a very soft voice that Xander can barely hear, confesses, “That’s not who I am anymore.”

            Xander places a hand on the blond’s shoulder, trying to be comforting.  It’s probably a little weird, judging from the look he’s getting, but then, he’s used to comforting girls, so maybe he’s a little awkward at this too.  “I don’t know.  You’re still a fighter.  At least, I’d consider you one.  And I’m really glad you’ve got my back.”

            “You didn’t need me.”  He caught the slight resentment, the loss and confusion of wanting to find one’s place in the world, and he understood.

            Xander sighs.  “I’m not sure how that would’ve gone without you,” he finally admits.  It’s different to say it out loud than to just think about it.  “Normally, yeah, I’d trust my friends to the ends of the earth, but…something was definitely wrong.  And you’ve saved me since.”

            The way Fitz becomes flustered, he hasn’t had anyone thank him in a long time.  It’s kind of sad, really.  “You wouldn’t have needed it if I hadn’t dragged you into all of this,” he mutters eventually, glaring softly at the carpet.  He really does feel guilty.  So Xander had made the right choice.  Not that he hadn’t known that, but it’s nice to have that confirmed.

            Mr. Speedwagon, you’re not allowed to become an Angel McBroodyface 2.0.  He doesn’t giggle out loud at the thought, especially not after what he’d learned, but just raises an eyebrow.  “And I’m a Joestar.”  It feels right, but weird, to say that out loud.  He’s starting to get used to the idea, though.  “You think that trouble wasn’t going to find me anyway?  From my dreams, from everything you’ve told me, we’re danger-magnets.  The stone mask resurfacing now of all times is proof of that.  And as for being in danger all the time, that’s nothing new.  That’s been my life since I was fifteen.  I’m just glad that I got to make a new friend.  Someone who can fight the same way I do and can help me learn about this wacky new side to the world.  Like I said, nothing new, just different.”

            For one long moment, green eyes just stare at him in shock.  He starts reviewing what he said, though he’s pretty sure he thought that out more than usual.  And then Fitz starts laughing, and after a moment Xander joins in at the absurdity of it all.

            The thief girl walks in.  If they’re going to be working with her, they at least need to get a pseudonym at some point.  She stares at them and slowly backs away again, which just seems even more hilarious.  It takes some effort, but Xander stops laughing and goes after her.  Her running away now wouldn’t help anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New opening: Kalafina's Heavenly Blue. We've reached one of the turning points of the series.  
> Thanks to everyone who's checked it out so far, and stuck with me! It's been a blast, and don't worry, there's more to come!  
> ~Dreamer~


	5. Shadows of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johan learns a little more about the Thief Girl.

            It takes a little while to convince the thief girl that they’re not both insane.  For once, he’s glad Fitz is still a little unsure, nursing a wounded ego.  He’s feeling a little better—they both are, but it’s not as if they have time to mourn.  Well, it’s not as if he has the time to mourn.  The others don’t know Angel.  Now, though, he might be able to call and not put his friends in danger.  They’re back to the normalcy of constant crises, no matter how calm it all seems.  The last place they were at caught on fire.  Maybe he’s paranoid, but his Scooby senses are screaming that there’s something wrong.

            His thoughts are still whirling.  It’s hard to grasp any of them.  He learned so much…

            _Stop.  Your name is Johan Higashikata.  You have to protect them.  Thief girl and even Speedwagon._

            The thing is, they have an understanding, which is horrible, because he knows the origin of that understanding, but it also lets him talk to her without freaking her out in the same way Fitz had.  Speedwagon doesn’t know how to talk to her, and he’s pretty sure she can’t look at the green-eyed Brit without thinking _I almost killed him_.

            “What happened?” he asks seriously, and she stares at him, while Whisper slinks out to watch him cautiously.  He turns to look at their surroundings.

            They’re in what is probably an apartment building—flat complex—and they’re standing on the balcony, now.  He’s tempted to say that this is where Fitz lives, but there’s not enough hats or books around, and it seems like the entire place is abandoned.  _How many people owe him favors?  Will any of them come to collect from him?_

            He shakes off the thought and begins talking conversationally.  “You know, I’ve been dealing with this since I was only a little older than you.”

            She blinks at him, and he feels the snake brush by his feet.  In curiosity, he guesses, but he wishes she’d be a little more careful with the whole touch thing.  Well, he’s wearing shoes, so it shouldn’t hurt, this time.  “It turned out that one of my best friends had been chosen.  By fate or destiny or whatever you want to call it.  She had to fight scary things to keep the whole world safe, and the people training her or whatever didn’t care what happened to her.”

            He lets his hands dangle over the railing.  Keeps going.  “Every week, we’d face a new monster.  Have to research it, before we can stop it from hurting people.  There are more things than Stands in this world, you know.  Vampires and all sorts of demons.”

            His hands are shaking, but one slender hand slips into his and he manages a smile.  “But the worst thing was that as horrible as it was, I knew that the humans were worse.  Could be worse.  Buffy was always telling me to stay out of it, that I might get hurt, but it was better than going home.”

            There’s a heartbeat.  Thief Girl squeezes his hand comfortingly.  “There was a fire.”

            “Fitz mentioned that,” he responds, still not turning to look at her.  Still not moving.  He might scare her away.

            “He tried to tell me that it was fine.  That it probably had nothing to do with Mum and Dad, but I don’t know.”  She sighs, then sits, hugging her knees.  “I’m adopted, you know.  They weren’t the worst.”  She sighs.  “I wish that Mr. Speedwagon wouldn’t lie to me just to protect me.  It’s annoying.  I’m not a complete child.”

            Johan leans in a little further, as if he’s about to tell her a secret.  “Well, he kidnapped me to keep me safe the second time we met.  He means well, but he’s an idiot sometimes.”

            That earns a smile, but she’s also seeming a little more well-disposed to Fitz, so it’s something.

            “I felt something.  Like a Stand.  Whisper might’ve noticed something, I don’t know.  But you felt it too, right?  Just from the street.  Whatever happened wasn’t normal.”  She shivers.  Xander would pull off his coat and put it over her shoulders if he had one.

            “I think you’re right.  We can’t know for sure, not until we caught whatever jerk did that, but.”  He sighs.  At least Mom—Josephine—is fine, and from what little his dreams tell him, she can handle herself.  “Is there something we should call you?”

            She hesitates for a very long time before Whisper slithers up to him again, wrapping around his foot in a manner that, he guesses, is supposed to be reassuring or supportive or something.  “Darling Violetta.  I don’t like my name very much.”

            “Well, I’m going to change mine,” he confides.  “The Harrises pretty much all suck.  And it’s not as if you’re not around people whose names are just as weird as yours.  I’m descended from the Joestars.” 

            She giggles.  “That’s silly.”

            “So, where are we, exactly?” Xander asks, and a voice speaks from behind them.

            “A friend’s.  They bought the building, but no one wanted a flat here.”

            They both jump.  Xander puts his hand on the others’ shoulder, just to steady her, and Fitz smiles wanly at them.

            He looks awful.  Like he’s strung out.  The blond sighs.  “The next step is to hack into the police database and find out the details of the case, to confirm your theory.  If it sounds like a Stand, I have another friend we can go meet to discuss all the notes on Stands he’s managed to find so far.”

            Johan grins giddily.  “So, you and Wils would get on, huh?”  It’s the stare that gets him.  “…She’s my best friend.  A witch and hacker.”

            “That wasn’t…never mind.”  Green eyes quickly direct themselves to the side.  “We promised we’d help you, Darling.”

            “That sounds so weird,” she mutters, before looking back up.  “It’s cool if I raid the fridge, right?”

            “Help yourself,” Fitz agrees.

            “I—that one I told you was dead?  I should tell the others about that.”  Fitz looks worried, but doesn’t contradict.

            Xander rolls his eyes as he heads for…well, where he hopes he’ll find the phone.  If nothing else, he can have an adventure looking for it.  “I get a little annoyed when people act like I can’t take care of myself, but I don’t mind discussions or people looking out for me.  Just give me respect and a voice.”

            “All right, Jojo.  Then…you didn’t want to do that because you thought it would put them in danger.  Are you sure it’s all right now?” he asks, stifling a yawn politely behind a hand.

            “Sure?  No.  Pretty sure that they’re currently in danger, and it feels like they’d be in more danger if I didn’t tell them.  I’m not sure how, exactly, but someone got their hands on an Arrow and took out one of our heavy hitters.  Any way we can help each other right now is a good idea.”

            Speedwagon nods, and a mischievous smile comes to his lips.  “Well, I’m glad you can think these things through.”

            “Hey!” Johan protests, but smiles and ruffles the kid’s hair.  The thought occurs to him, and before he can stop himself from making another reference he’s pretty sure no one else in the room will get, his voice makes the decision for him as he ducks a little (these doors are lower than he thought).  “See you, Space Cowboy.”


	6. A Star's Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander, or Johan, finally gets to call his family (new and old).

            Xander’s not sure what he expects when he calls, but knowing the voice that answers as well as he knows Buffy’s or Willows is not it.

            Then again, it’s not as if she’s a total stranger.

            “Hi, Mom.”  His throat is suddenly tight, voice small.  Speedwagon nods reassuringly, successfully diverted from his hacking attempt.  A smaller hand slips into his own.

            “My boy, all growed up.”  That’s right.  She’s a dork, when she’s not drunk all the time.  Warring memories of his childhood and brief glimpses he’d caught while he was asleep dance in his head.

            There’s pride.  And, well, awkwardness, but it’s not like she’s the only one.

            “That me,” he agrees.  The smile’s not going anywhere.

            There’s a moment or two of comfortable quiet before she speaks again.  “Oh, right.  Hang on.  I’m putting you on speaker.”

            When she does, there’s a chorus of ‘hello’ so loud he can’t really make out the individual voices.  He laughs.  “Come on, one at a time.”

            “Xander!” Dawn sounds like she’s going to cry, which is uncomfortable.  He hates seeing the girls cry, especially the one who’s so much like a little sister.

            “I have powers now.  Whaddya say to some celebratory ice cream, or cake, or better yet ice cream cake, to celebrate when I get back?”  His voice is softer, and she sounds better.

            She still might cry, but at least she’s sounding happier.  “You had better.  Hear that, mister?  No dying.”

            That brings up something he should talk about, but before he can someone else speaks.  A voice he’s never heard before, not once in his life, but he recognizes it anyway.  “Why are you missing an eye in the picture?”

            “Jojo!” he hears—yet another best friend he’s never met in his life, scolding him for being insensitive and just blurting things out—and yet.

            “Hi, Jotaro-san…You know what, I’m not going to even try to figure out the relationship between us.  You can just be Uncle Jotaro.”  His head hurts even thinking about the family tree, and that’s even discounting the whole situation Jotaro had discovered in Italy.

            There’s silence.  Jotaro’s probably glaring at the phone.  Or, well.  It’s probably not exactly a glare.  He’s gruffly concerned, Johan’s sure.

            “There was this whole thing with an evil priest.  It’s a long story.”  He doesn’t miss the hissed breath, nor the “What’s wrong?” from someone else he knows.

            “Hey, Uncle Kakyoin,” he greets.  There’s this weird sense of déjà vu, but he’ll figure that out some other day.  There’s too much to do while he’s awake, right now.

            “It’s nice to meet you, or at least talk to you,” comes the response.  “How do you know of me, exactly?”

            “Pretender.  I can kind of relive the bloodline’s memories, and travel in dreams, as far as I can tell.”  That _definitely_ gets a hissed gasp in response, but Uncle Jotaro will probably bully the truth out of the cherry boy without his need to get involved.

            “Oh, yeah, G-man, I found a mini-you!”  Identical sighs issue from both sides of the line, and Johan just starts giggling.

            “Very mature, Jojo,” Fitz growls, reaching over and lightly bopping the Higashikata on the head.  _Success; he’s starting to get a little more comfortable again._   “Fitz.  I’ll choose to take it as a compliment.  You must also be a man of culture and sense, unlike certain company.”

            “Ah, yes.”  Giles coughs.  He’s pleased.  Good.  It’s like his family is knitting back together, and it now even has real family there too, which—bonus!  “I look forward to talking with you, Fitz.  Americans are…an acquired taste, I suppose.  It takes a while for you to get used to them.  Particularly Californians, particularly those from Sunnydale.”

            “Giles!”  Willow, outraged—but it’s a mock outrage.

            “He’s ticklish,” Buffy confides, and Xander gasps in shock, scandalized.

            “Betrayal, oh Slayer friend-of-mine.  How dare—you—”  It’s in the middle of his highly theatrical slumping over that he remembers with startling clarity what he’s been trying to forget, and he instantly sobers.  It’s a good thing he’s put this phone on speaker, too.  His hands are starting to shake.  “Buffster—God.  I am so sorry.”

            He wishes he were there, to hold her hand, hold her as she cried.  She really did love Angel.

            “Wh-what?”  She’s trying to act like she doesn’t know, but they’re no strangers to loss.  Her heart has to know what’s wrong.

            “Angel.  I saw him, too, and he said that he’d been killed.”  He has to state it bluntly.  No use in dragging this out any more than necessary.

            He hears Buffy start to cry.  She doesn’t bother asking him whether he’s sure.

            “Was it by some sort of water Stand User?”  Jotaro, already ready for the next battle, thinking about the next battle.  It’s almost easier to deal with.

            “He mentioned something about water, and stronger than a Master Vampire.  So, probably a demon or something.”  He closes his eyes and searches those unfamiliar memories getting catalogued in his brain.  “I honestly think he’d have a fair chance against a Stone Mask-style vampire, though if he was caught unawares or something…”  Then he remembers something else vital.  “He might’ve ended up with the Arrow.  Or Wolfram & Hart.  I’m not sure.”

            “You’re coming here, right?” Josephine asks abruptly, and he _hates_ having to contradict his mother, but.

            But something in his blood is telling him that this is important.  That he _needs_ to do this.  “There’s something going on here.  Do you want to say hi, Violetta?”

            “Hi!” she squeaks, Whisper stirring restlessly.

            Fitz lets out a loud sigh.  “It’s been far too long.  Time was, this wouldn’t have taken me long at all.”

            “Oh, yeah, you should probably talk to Willow on hacking tips,” he mentions.

            The witch shakes her head at the phone.  Not that he can see it, but he can tell, just from the sound of her voice.  “I’m a little rusty.  Though I suppose that would be a way I could stretch my legs.”

            “I suppose, then, that interesting conversations await, but for now, we have work to do.”  He sounds like he’s reading, now.  “It says that it’s just like a stabbing that happened in the same location fifteen years ago, down to every exact detail.  But the original murderer is dead, and there are quite a few details that weren’t released to the public.  I suppose I could call a few people to verify the death, and of course, any skilled hacker could get their hands on the information the same way I’m doing.”  He glances at the thief girl, who’s begun to shake, and shakes himself out of it.  “My apologies.”

            “It’s fine,” she says in a voice barely above a mouse’s squeak.

            “A Stand User murderer?” Jotaro’s voice is sharp.  “I’ll come.”

            He’s also probably not the only one.  It’s hard to tell whether Buffy will get her wish, but she’d probably volunteer in a matter of seconds, anxious to do anything to avoid thinking about her grief.

            “We’ll try not to attract attention,” Johan agrees.  Maybe it’s overly cautious, but having other Stand Users at his back, particularly ones as powerful and dependable as Jotaro, would make him feel more confident.  The others probably aren’t happy that he’s not staying where he is, but there’s also a pressing time component to this whole thing.

            “Dad might also come, depending on what he says when we get ahold of him again,” Josephine adds.  Then, “…Be careful.”

            “You too.”  He salutes at the phone, even though no one but Fitz and Darling can see him do it.  “I’ll let you know where we’re at when you’re ready.”  It’s hard to tell what’s going on, but if Wolfram & Hart is involved, their phones might be bugged.  Wesley isn’t necessarily to blame—it’s probably hard to keep information out of the hands of the bad guys when you’re working in the middle of Evil Guys Central.

 


	7. Try to Fight It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johan, Fitz, and Darling continue their investigation into the death of Darling's parents...

            “He’s a professor that does research in the local aquarium-slash-zoo,” Fitz explains as they walk, and a broad grin breaks out on Johan’s face.

            “Ooo, does he work with sharks?”

            The blond blinks, obviously confused as to the source of the enthusiasm.  Then again, Xander’s had a long-standing tradition of confusing Brits with enthusiasm, so this is no different.

            “Shark week is a mandatory holiday,” he elaborates, and Fitz continues to stare before, in the end, giving up.

            “Americans are strange.”

            Behind him, Darling is nodding fervently, which just gives Jojo a bigger grin.  Confusion and misdirection is fun.

            When they get there, Fitz has some trouble getting in contact with his contact, but then, it’s crowded, and the man prefers to work in the thinned crowds of the late afternoon.  Johan badgers the blond into buying him food and gives an innocent smile at the annoyed glare.  “If you’d thought to kidnap me with my wallet on me, I wouldn’t have to keep bugging you for money.”

            The green eyes roll skyward, but he still senses a little relief that Jojo has an appetite again.

            It’s not exactly as easy as it looks, but he’s had practice with compartmentalization and dealing with the grief when they’re not likely to be attacked anytime soon.

            They wander around for a bit, Darling exclaiming at all the animals, seeming years younger.  It’s heartwarming to see her lose her pinched, scared look.  Xander stays _far_ away from the hyenas and doesn’t plan to explain his behavior to the others.

            “You were wanting to speak to Dr. Ackerman?”  A voice interrupts them.  A man in a lab coat.  “I work with him in the aquarium.  I can show you where we work if you’d like to wait there.”

            “Do you work with _Carcharodon carcharias_?”  The words roll off his tongue, and he doesn’t even realize that that might be a little strange.

            “Yes.  Fascinating creatures, aren’t they?  We’re currently working on intelligence and schooling instincts.”  The man talks, and he purposefully needles the man about the (highly inaccurate) films he’s seen.  Fitz is torn between being amused and rolling his eyes, and the thief girl isn’t bothering to try to hide the giggles.

            He gasps at the deep tanks they have—they’re not large, length or width wise, but they might actually be accurate in other aspects of simulating the ocean.  This place must have money, especially as they aren’t being displayed, back here in the employees-only section.

            “He called me shortly before I heard you were looking for him.  Apparently the traffic is ghastly.”  There’s a smile.  A smile like a shark.  Typical arrogance of an academic, Johan thinks with the slightest of irritation.  “I have to retrieve my wetsuit, but if you like, you could see me at work, before you talk to the professor.”

            He heads toward where Jojo assumes the employees’ personal lockers are, leaving the room, and he turns to the others.  “Come on, lighten up.  This is a once in a lifetime opportunity—”

            Something sharp and heavy slams into Xander’s shoulder, and his breath leaves his body in one big gust.  His legs stop working, and he stumbles backward a little.

            He has time to see Fitz’s and Darling’s shocked and worried faces as he falls, think ‘I really need to stop getting attacked in zoos’, and hit the water.  Or rather, the water hits him.  It’s as if it’s a giant fist at his back, after all, and he’s pretty sure he did no damage to the water in general.  Disturbed it a little, maybe, but then it’d just go back to its usual placid nature like nothing had happened.

            It’s freezing.  It’s probably not as cold as it feels, because they’d just been hanging out in the hot and humid tropical area.  And the burgundy substance leaking out, spreading like he’d dropped a few drops of food coloring in a glass of water, gives a clue to what happened.

            He’s not sure how long it takes to sink, but it certainly feels like he’s falling faster than just through the air, which isn’t possible.  Then again, he’s a little confused, disoriented.  Time isn’t working right.

            When he finally slows down, he realizes something’s wrong.  The light’s coming from every direction.  Where did he come from?  Where’s up?  He tries to swim around, re-orient himself, but the pull at his shoulder hurts with every jostle, and he has to grit his teeth harder.  The light’s being obscured by the red.

            He’s moving slower than he should be.  It takes a little while for his body to obey what he tells it to do.  Which is why it takes him a few seconds to process the sudden jolt of danger that thrills through him.

            He’s in danger, yeah.  He needs air, desperately, but…

            These are the research shark tanks.

            He turns just in time to catch a shoulder full of razor teeth.  The uninjured shoulder.  Well, the previously uninjured shoulder.  He’s pretty sure it was aiming at his head, but he doesn’t have time to be grateful as the pain rips through him, leading the last of his breath that he was saving to burst from him.

            It makes no sound, if you scream underwater.  No one can hear you scream.

            You have to save yourself.

            He’s getting lightheaded, but oddly that makes it easier for him to call Pretender.  The jolt as his Stand punches the shark makes him jerk in pain.  He fights the urge to breathe in.

            A shape looms nearby.  Probably another one.  He can’t tell what direction it’s coming from, exactly where it’s blocking the light, but there’s a shadow from somewhere and he needs to move.  React.

            He grits his teeth and jerks out the thing from his shoulder.  The agony electrifies every nerve, and he really is going to pass out soon.  But he can’t do it just yet.

            Okay, so allowing more blood to get into the water, starting a frenzy, possibly not the best option.  But it’s the only plan he’s got.  If he keeps bleeding with it in, it’s an inevitability anyway.

            He has to make a better target.

            It’s a harpoon.  He’s not sure exactly how it got here, but he’s pretty sure who was responsible.  That researcher.  He’d seemed shady, but they didn’t exactly have a lot of options, and Fitz’s contact would be here soon.  Right?

            That’d probably been a lie.  But he’d seemed harmless enough.

            He waits until the shark is close, then spears it with the last of his strength.  The movement is an anguish he doesn’t really care to repeat, so he uses Pretender to jerk the harpoon back and forth, cut up the shark more, spread around the blood, make the wound bigger.

            And then he starts swimming in the opposite direction.  He doesn’t know whether it’s up, but away from the feeding frenzy that’s about to begin is a good place to be.

            Eventually, the pain starts fading, the light dimming.

            _Jotaro would be…_

            It’s too much effort to try to catch the end of the sentence.  He lets it drift into the water, lost.  He doesn’t notice when he loses consciousness.


	8. Crime Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the attack continues...

            It’s a lot easier to notice when he wakes up.  The slapping on his face tells him that he’s alive, and someone’s worried about it.  Fitz, probably.

            He coughs a little water out and sits up.  Surprisingly, he hasn’t inhaled the entire tank when he was down there.

            Fitz doesn’t have a hat on.  It’s weird.  He’s also the most relieved Xander has ever seen him.

            The girl also looks happy. 

            They’re all sopping wet.  He blinks, trying to reorient himself again to a world where up and down aren’t directions to move, to the world outside of the water.  And he looks around, trying to work out what happened.

            It’s a little shocking when he notices that there are four or five reddish blobs at the bottom of the tanks.  The other sharks look a bit agitated.  Wary, which is weird.  But not completely so, because sharks have shown the ability to learn and react to the environment, figuring out what’s dangerous and what’s not, and display curiosity and…okay, just when did he get these facts in his head?  He doesn’t really pay attention during Shark Week, it’s really just sort of a tradition.

            “They got too excited,” Darling explains sheepishly.

            He looks at Fitz.  “Luckily, I was able to get to you before you breathed in too much water.”  That doesn’t really explain how Fitz was able to keep both of them from getting brain damage.

            A loud noise startles him, and he looks over just in time to see Lotus Juice, which has a somewhat pleased look on its face if he’s not mistaken, blow out a lot of air into the water and go shooting across the tank.  “My Stand inhaled a lot of air and also stored some in its shell, and we dove down to get you.  Lotus Juice then acted like an oxygen tank.  It wasn’t the best, but it worked fairly well as improvisation goes, and we didn’t really have time to do more than improvise.”

            Fitz got him, while Violent Whispers held off the sharks.  And then Fitz healed him with Lotus Juice.

            “Thanks, both of you.”  He takes a moment to just breathe and appreciate how nice it is.  But they really have to start figuring out what’s going on.  “So…who speared me?”

            The blond frowns darkly.  “Given that the scientist disappeared before I dove into the water, I’ll guess he’s the one.”

            “Marine biologist,” Xander corrects absently.  “I think you’re probably right.  Question is, is your friend okay?  Because that guy probably lied about a lot of things.  He might not even work here.”

            “He knows the building pretty well for not working here,” the girl points out.

            “We should probably find him,” Fitz agrees, green eyes again flashing with worry.

 

            The research area is probably the first place to look.  It’s half an hour before the locker finally swings open after a lot of gentle prodding, and Xander stifles his response.  “I—I found your friend,” he manages eventually.  The tone even almost doesn’t sound horrified, which is pretty impressive.  “I’m sorry.”

            Nobody deserved this, practically filleted and then stuck into a locker.  The blood was oozing.  He swallows and manages to keep down the sausage he’d eaten back in the little zoo café.

            “I-it’s not your fault, Jojo.”  He’s pretty sure the hand now on his shoulder is meant to steady Fitz more than himself.  “We probably shouldn’t stay here too long, o-or touch too much, but notes on the Stands are probably important to find.  If that murderer hasn’t taken them, of course.”  He turns to the girl.  “Keep an eye out.”

            She rolls her eyes.  “Thief,” she reminds them.  “But it’s probably better that all of us don’t get our fingerprints on everything.”

            Xander winces.  “Whoops.  To be fair, the Sunnydale police were useless, so we didn’t really have to worry about that.”  He pulls his hand away a little.  As if that’ll really help anything.  “W-what should we do?”

            “Try to wipe down everything you’ve touched.  Especially here and back in the pool.  Touch nothing else with your bare hands.  There’s nothing you can do about all the blood you got into the pool, but at least it’ll make you look more like a victim, not a suspect.  The police will still be looking for you, and want to ask questions you can’t answer, but being the suspect isn’t good.”  It’s shocking, the change that comes over her.  She might really not deal too well with violence, preferring to distract witnesses with Violent Whispers and make a run for it, but when it comes to breaking the law in non-violent ways she’s suddenly in her element, calm and collected.  “Whisper can see heat.  I’ll try to wipe down anything that’s been touched recently, so that _should_ cover everything we’ve touched in this room and maybe during our search, but everything else has probably cooled down too much for me to see it.  I’ll try to go from memory, too, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

            When she’s finished with the room, Fitz mutters, “I’m glad she’s on our side.”

            “So, what are we supposed to use to make sure our dirty mitts don’t get all over…”  As usual, Jojo gets a strange look from the Englishman for his word choice, but it doesn’t invoke comment for once.

            “I think I might have a pair of gloves in…aha!”  He pulls out the gloves—white leather—with a flourish that reminds Xander of a magician.  He starts clapping quietly in response.

            Fitz flushes.  “This is a dress jacket, and I work in a bookshop.  Do you know how common paper cuts are when you’re working with certain volumes?”

            “I’d think white wouldn’t be your color of choice, but…”  The reply is finished with a shrug.

            “I’d lend them to you, but you look like you have the hands of a giant.  And you’ve already got your DNA at the scene, even though I’m not sure how easy it would be for them to extract it.”  He searches his pockets once more.

            “Do you have a sonic screwdriver in there by any chance?” Xander asks curiously.  It’s clear that Fitz is flattered by the comment, but doesn’t exactly know how to respond, so just hands the handkerchief he produces over.

            “I’m not exactly comfortable with my blood just lying around for anyone to do anything with.  It’s the easiest stuff to use a spell on, for one thing,” Xander comments as they get back to work.

            “If you want to go back down there with the sharks, be my guest,” Fitz gestures, irritated at the interruption.

            “I wasn’t complaining, it was just…a comment.”  He pauses, then grins.  “If anyone starts using anything that looks like blood control on me, you’ll step in and save me, won’t you?”

            “How would I tell?  You’re always acting strange.”  The blond sounds annoyed, but Jojo knows better.  He’s slightly amused, which means he’s starting to relax.  “And of course I would.  I’ve risked my arse enough for you before now.”

            Well.  That hadn’t been exactly the response Xander had been expecting.  Fitz was usually pretty proper about things.  But it meant that he was starting to relax, to see him as something more than just a Joestar, which was of the good.

            They work in silence for a little longer before Fitz speaks up again.  “You know, Jojo, if I’m remembering the stories correctly…the Ripple carries underwater.”

            Xander stops completely and thinks about that.  He’d basically been operating off of instinct.  He wasn’t sure how much breath he’d had left by the time the sharks attacked, but still, he probably could’ve mustered up _something_.  “Uh.  Right.  Yeah, it does that.”  He tries not to sound as embarrassed as he is.

            “I’m glad you didn’t consider it, though.”  He doesn’t mean to look up, but the Englishman isn’t complaining about how thick he is sometimes.  And, yes, he’s pretty sure he’s not hallucinating from having nearly drowned or anything, that’s a hatless grinning Fitz in its natural habitat.  Whatever that means.  “I’m not sure what it would have done to Darling or I.”

            “I’m glad I didn’t accidentally fry you.  Or harpoon you.”  Fitz actually does frown at this, and he’s probably about to ask about the Feeding Frenzy Plan, which is not of the good, so he quickly busies himself to have an excuse to look away.  He goes back to looking for…whatever they’re looking for, absent-minded, and then realizes he’s pretty sure he’s been staring at what they’ve been looking for a while and not processing it.  “A blood-stained bunch of papers with Stand as a heading on one of them wouldn’t happen to be why we were meeting this guy, would it?”

            “Well, not directly, no.”  Fitz is frowning.  “It looks like there are pages missing, but it’s not like we really have the time.”

            As if on cue, Darling pokes her head around the corner.  “We need to _go_.”

            “Leaving,” Jojo agrees.


	9. Morale Officer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johan tries to cheer up the others.

            Fitz grumbles a lot when confronted by the leftovers in the fridge.  He dutifully gets portions for Xander and Darling, and only under intense glaring from the newest Jojo does he get some for himself, too.  Johan’s head is spinning with theories, anything from the fact that he’s one of those microwave conspiracy theorists to the much more probable explanation that he’s hurting in the Patented Stoic British Way about the death of a friend, but he’s not about to start speculating out loud.  That’d be rude.  It’s better to question things in your head where no one can hear you.

            Or something.  It’s probably more like non-social gossip, but hey.  He’s not completely calm himself, despite the fact that that’s hardly the first dead body he’s seen, let alone the bloodiest, but his mind is still spinning in useless circles and his hands are trembling from need to do _something_.  His shoulder still aches, even from Lotus Juice’s healing, and he tries to clear his mind and breathe properly and let the hamon run through him.  It’s not really working, which is annoying.  He curses the fact that he’s had hardly any practice woodworking since the…since the priest.  It’d be something productive to do.  And calming.  And he could just let his mind stop being quite so useless and just _do_ something for a while and relax.  Which may sound heartless, but it’s survival and it’s hard to argue with that.  If they were in Sunnydale, there’d be broken stuff in the house, probably, and he could fix that.

            The apartment building isn’t perfect.  There are broken windows and stuff everywhere, but even if anyone wanted him to fix it, he doesn’t have the tools.  They were lost in the crater that was once his home.

            But despite everything, he’s the practical one.  Not that anyone would believe that, but still.  It’s a way he could contribute, make himself useful.  He probably should’ve been more persistent about going for some type of martial arts or something, just so he wasn’t totally useless back then.  The one time he’d tried, Giles had put his foot down.  No civilians getting hurt!

            And he’d stopped, because Giles was the closest thing he’d had to a real dad, and because having anyone else disappointed in him _hurt_.

            Focus.  No one’s okay after that, but someone’s got to get us through this.  Fitz is too busy brooding.  Darling’s probably seen a lot on the streets, although he probably shouldn’t assume that her childhood is comparable, even with some similarities he’d noticed.  Not everyone learns home first aid when they’re fifteen, or how to tell someone’s bleeding to death.  And the scene in the locker was pretty gruesome on the scale.

            Point is, he’s the practical one.  The morale officer, if anyone was inclined to notice.  Someone had tried to kill him.  Okay, big deal.  Not like that hadn’t happened before.  Someone had died.  Concerning, but not the end of the world.  He’s seen that enough to be qualified to know.  Time to distract them entirely.  They’re picking at their food, which, yeah, while it makes sense, it’s also bad.  They need their strength in case they get attacked again.

            “Do you happen to have money or more favors or something?” Xander asks again, mouth full.  It earns a giggle from the girl and a roll of the eyes from Speedwagon, and…it’s starting to feel like home.  For an instant he pictures Dawn and the girls spoiling the thief girl, Fitz and Giles geeking out about ancient books.  It hurts, and by the way green eyes narrow at him, Fitz hadn’t missed the look in his eyes.  He hurries on.  If he can distract him from the subject, it’ll be something.  “I’ve been wearing these same clothes for a while.  Went to sleep in them, and then everything changed.  It’s probably time I get a change.  Never mind the fact that as fugitives, or people the police will be looking for anyway, it’d probably be good to ditch these clothes anyway.”  He doesn’t mention the blood.  It’d mostly come out in the water, but there are weird holes he can’t just explain as your average wear-and-tear.

            Fitz is distracted from staring gloomily at the bloodied sheets of paper.  His shoulders slump a little.

            “I have access to some funds, but I don’t exactly…”

            “Shopping trip!”  Darling bounces like Dawn, and it’s another hurt.  He missed them, before, in Africa, but now he really _misses_ them.  It’s been a while, but suddenly things are happening again and they’d always talked their way through stuff like this.  “I’ve got money, don’t worry.”  It’s probably ill-gotten gains.  Yet another similarity to Dawn.  But it’s not out of boredom, or a need for attention.  It was for survival.  Xander understands that.

            Besides, he’s getting really _sick_ of these clothes, even with the impromptu wash.  Especially with the impromptu wash, actually.  Uncle Jotaro might be used to the smell of seawater, but the shock of finding…stuff…had kind of knocked that out of his head.  And, well, to be honest, nearly drowning kind of dampens the appeal.

            “I’d use my Watcher funds, but I don’t know with everything that’s still going on if they’re still working, or whether the police are watching already,” he continues, apologetic.  If there ever was a use, now was the time.  (So it’s mostly for emergencies.  Good to know.  The shipment of magical bananas should’ve taught him that, but Africa feels like a different world, a different life.)

            “It’s not a problem!”  Darling still seems ridiculously happy, and it’s adorable.  He ruffles her hair, and she pouts, Whisper slithering onto the table and glaring.

            He puts his hands up.  “Sorry about that, my bad.”  …She’s probably not used to touch.  At least, not friendly touch.  And he’s the guy that gives the best hugs for his friends and high-fives them and he’s stuck with two people who really don’t like that sort of thing when it’s second nature.

            Well, he can try to stay in their comfort zone at least.


	10. Let's Go Shopping!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darling and Johan are a handful, even in an outdoor mall.

            It’s probably odd, Jojo agrees, for a grown man to be quite so distracted by the earring display, but suddenly he’s feeling off balance and the shinies in the case look like they might just have something to do with it.

            It earns a Concerned Fitz Eyebrow, but he ignores it, staring fixedly, trying to pinpoint the cause.  It turns out to be something simple.  He’s flipping through memories like they’re a book, and thinks ‘oh, yeah, it’s because I always wear earrings’ and then realizes that the memories aren’t his own and blinks a lot.

            He hadn’t really thought about it, which is stupid, but you can’t really blame him for being a little distracted by everything that’s going on.  He needs to tap into a Joestar’s memories in order to copy their ability, but hadn’t really thought about the fact that those memories weren’t exactly just staying in the dream world.

            _That explains all that marine biologist stuff that was coming out of nowhere.  Something was off.  I just couldn’t get why._

            He’s…channeling them.  Their personality, their memory.  Maybe at some point figuring out who he really is will be a problem.  He needs to not lose himself in that.

            Then again, he _had_ just been stuck in the Colour and the Shape for a while, so maybe that was why…?

            Whatever, it doesn’t matter now.  Thing is, he’d just been Jotaro, who’d had pierced ears.  _So does granddad_ , his mind adds absently.

            Maybe it _is_ a little concerning, given their talk earlier about sharp pointy objects and survival instincts, but he kind of wants his ears pierced now.

            And meanwhile, Fitz is having to play the adult, rushing between the two children who can’t stop running off.  In an outdoor mall, no less, which is even _less_ confined.

            He’s concerning the lady behind the counter, though, and they really need to avoid getting kicked out, so he nods with a smile and moves on, noting that the star earrings are kinda cool.

            “I’ll go find Darling,” he says, and then he’s off again.

 

            Fitz next finds him standing in front of the bargain bins.

            “What have you got…there…?”  Fitz blinks several times, then sighs, adjusting the hat on his head.  “You are a complete and utter child.”

            “Hey!  Just hear me out, okay?”  Yeah, okay, so while a squirt gun may not seem the most dignified or whatever and hardly would qualify as a weapon in most people’s hands, Speedwagon was hardly most people.  “It’s kind of unassuming.  It’s good to carry something to defend yourself with that most people wouldn’t confiscate because they don’t see it as a threat.  And with LJ, it actually could be, right?  You pulled that move with the water bottle.”

            “LJ?”  He reaches out and takes the water pistol.  At least it doesn’t look really kidlike or anything, and the plastic isn’t completely flimsy.

            “Lotus Juice.”  Jotaro would be fascinated and probably want to take a few samples, even though Stands don’t really follow science.  It’s kind of adorable, honestly.  Like a puppy.  Not like he’s ever saying this to Fitz, of course, but he can think whatever he wants in the privacy of his own mind.

            Fitz stares at it for a while before nodding.  “You have a point.”  He places it in the basket and sighs.  “Weren’t we here for clothes?  And try not to get an eyesore like that shirt you wore to the store.  It was atrocious.”

            “Says the man in the land of tweed,” Jojo teases good-naturedly.  He thinks about adding something about giving no promises, but Fitz is going to have to dash off in a minute to find Darling, again, and he does feel a little sorry for his friend.  “I’ll try to get something you won’t be ashamed for people to see your friend wearing.”

            Fitz is torn between rolling his eyes and thanking him, and ends up sighing instead.  “Thank you.”

 

            There’s fingerless gloves.  Maybe it’s the inner nerd in him, but he’s always wanted a pair of those.  Honestly, everything else is a little harder.  He’s been dressing himself the same way for so long, it’s hard to break out of the habit.  And he can’t just go for a copy of one of the other Joestar’s outfits, even if that would be comfortable.

            Ahn…how would she have felt about all this?  She probably would’ve found it sexy.  But again, there went her dream of a normal job for him and the American Dream life, so…she probably wouldn’t have been happy.  Still, she would’ve loved picking out his outfit.  What would she have gone for?

            Maybe a leather jacket.  He could even accessorize and have it match the eyepatch.  _Which, on that note, a big thank you to my favorite witch for using a spell to make sure it doesn’t get infected or anything.  I’d hate to be a normal person with no eye knocked into that.  …On the other hand, if I was a normal person in that situation, I probably wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place, or I would’ve died, so the point is kinda moot._

            And then he sees the camo pants, and another thought occurs to him that hadn’t before.  _Way back, that Halloween.  Everyone changed because of that spell, but I was the only one who actually kept all that soldier stuff.  Buff still failed that history test, even though, for a bit, she’d actually lived through that.  I wonder if, even back then, that was Pretender._   Still, that solves a few of his problems.  Kind of casual soldier is a look he can pull off, and it won’t drive Fitz insane.  Besides, it’ll solve the issue of people staring, too.  They’ll think it’s a war wound.  Which, yeah, it kind of is, but not in the way they’ll think.  Still, though, it’d be an improvement.

            If he’s going for the leather, though, he probably should get _leather_ of the fingerless gloves.  Hopefully Darling’s budget will cover it all.

 

            It’s getting dark outside.

            “I’m thirsty,” Xander whines again, and this time it’s enough to break through Fitz’s calm.

            “All right, all right!  There’s a vending machine around the corner; here’s some change.  Go buy yourself something.”

            The utterly goofy and grateful smile that he gets in return is almost enough to erase his annoyance at Americans.  Almost.  “Thank you!” Xander shouts as he sprints away.

            Fitz massages his forehead and realizes that the Joestar _had_ been wounded little more than twenty-four hours ago, and maybe he can make allowances, if only for a bit.

 

            He sees a goofy looking large lunchbox or something next to the vending machine only when he accidentally nudges it with his foot.  He really is thirsty.  And hungry.  It doesn’t matter.  He eagerly takes the bottle from the machine, but doesn’t get to take a sip.  One of _his_ Slayers approaches and snatches the soda bottle right out of his hands.  “I wouldn’t take that one,” he warns it lightly, though it doesn’t listen.

            All it takes is for the cap to pop off for a fountain of soda to come streaming out, knocking the jaw out of place and tearing out a couple of teeth.  The Slaypire falls, howling and clutching its jaw.

            “Yare yare.  That’s why I told you.”  The words aren’t his own, but he’s tired and they’re all beginning to merge together.  He feels like he’s said those exact words a thousand times before, that they’re worn, familiar company.

            It’s happening again.  At least he’s aware of it this time.

            She yells and charges him, and it’s almost second nature to form a fist, breathe, and move.  “I’m sorry,” he says to the dust being carried away by the wind, and he is, but the way to fix it is to deal with Simone, and _someone’s_ doing that.  He assumes.  That’s a question he probably should’ve asked them, but there’s always too much to talk about.  He always forgets something.  Well, he should get back to the others now.


	11. This is My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johan makes his way back to the others and finds that something's wrong...

            He bumps into someone on the way, and they look at him somewhat vacantly before walking on without even an apology.  It’s rude, but it’s been a long day, even though he’s the one who’d been causing most of the aggravation in the first place.  Well, a good portion, anyway.  He’ll be the good guy here and give the bloke a break.

            When he finds them again, Darling’s getting an ice cream under the watchful eye of Fitz, sitting at the bench and massaging his forehead as he stares fixedly down at the water pistol, as if wondering where it had come from.

            That’s kind of odd, but Fitz is probably just wondering how his life got to this point.

            He sits down next to his friend, sighing.  “I don’t suppose you’d be very happy if I asked if I could have an ice cream, too.”

            There’s…no response.  None.  At first, he just thinks that Fitz didn’t hear him.  Or maybe he’s just pretending not to hear, because that outfit had been expensive (hey, he _could_ have gone for the Hawaiian, that would’ve been cheap) and this day probably sucked for the stoic Brit.  He tries again.

            “There was a Slaypire.  She wasn’t expecting me to fight back, I think.”  He leans back, lacing his hands behind his head.  “I just…this sucks, you know.  It’s probably just whining to you, but I…Every single one of my Slayers, they’re like family.  I didn’t really _have_ family.  Do now, but that doesn’t mean any of them mean any less.”  Still nothing.  Not an encouraging word, not some sort of sound of acknowledgement, nothing. 

            He glances over, somewhat concerned now.  Is Fitz really that ticked off?  He sits back up, reaches over and waves a hand in front of Fitz’s face.  “Moshi-moshi?”  He’s channeling again.  That’ll need a name.  Stranger Things Have Happened, maybe.  But that’s not the point now.  The point is that those green eyes haven’t even blinked.

            And then, in that horrible moment, he’s back in the haunted house.  For all intents and purposes, he’s Marcie.  At least he’s not homicidal on top of getting actually socially invisible.

_Get ahold of yourself, Jojo.  This is magic, or a Stand User.  Either way, there’s some way to fight this.  Some way to get out of it.  So stop sitting here like an idiot and get your butt in gear to go out there and kick some butt._

            This isn’t like Violent Whispers, where he had the excuse of being affected mentally by the Stand’s power. 

            He has to try to get through to Fitz somehow, to warn him.  This is probably meant to isolate them, pick them off one by one.  It’s a risk, but he reaches over and starts shaking him.  “Hey, Fitz, listen to me!  There’s a Stand—”

            And then he’s flying off the bench, cheek stinging.  His friend punched him.  “Get off me, you bastard!  You said you were a Stand User?”

            _He’s swearing again_ , is his foggy thought, before another voice joins them.

            “Mr. Speedwagon?  Who are you talking to?”  It’s Darling, licking the ice cream, and Fitz’s eyes turn vague again.

            “I…I’m not sure.”  He looks frustrated, like he’s on the verge of remembering something, which is good.  It’s something.  If he can count on someone whose loyalty and stubbornness would be helpful in this situation, it’s Fitz.  “I.”  he pauses again, then sighs.  “I get the feeling that there’s a Stand User around.  Be careful.”

            She nods fervently, looking more than a little shy, and they begin walking off.

            _No, that’s wrong.  I should be there._   “Yeah, that’s right, _I’m_ a Stand User!  I’m right here!” he screams, standing again, and gets a kick to the gut for his efforts before Fitz stands up looking at his feet in distaste and confusion.  This time, they’re hurrying away faster.

            He pulls out Pretender as he coughs crouched on the floor.  Hamon might have been enough earlier, but right now, he needs the use of his Stand if he’s going to make it through this.

            On direction, Pretender runs in front of the two, but they walk around like they’ve seen him and he just doesn’t matter.  Pretender tries to go after them, but he runs into something like an invisible wall.

 _This isn’t my range.  Something’s wrong._ There’s that voice again, the voice he knows as well as his own.  Deep, powerful.  It’s Pretender, and it’s not quite obvious whether he’s actually speaking or whether he can just hear the voice because he’s the User.

            He supposes it doesn’t really matter, now.  Two choices—defeat the Stand, defeat the User.  He’s vulnerable now, but intel is probably the most important thing here, so he asks Pretender to do a quick sweep of the area.

            There’s sudden, harsh stabs of pain as he breathes, as people walk into him, and he has a feeling that his ribs are bruised if not worse.  He tries to get his breathing under control, but Joseph had a point.  It’s a lot harder than it looks to keep your breath normal when you’re in such pain.  If he can just get a good rhythm going, he can heal a little, enough to at least stand up. 

 _There’s a distance.  It appears to be square in character, and slowly getting smaller.  I cannot travel beyond this point, and I would guess you are likewise incapable of traveling further._   Wow, Pretender’s downright chatty when he wants to be.  Then again, as Xander’s Stand, he’s not sure why he expected anything else.

_There is no sign of anyone suspicious in the vicinity.  I suspect this is an Automatic-type Stand, so the effect is powerful but limited, and the User is outside the area I can reach.  The Stand is probably close by, but I haven’t seen a sign of one, either.  It must be vulnerable, but if we delay, it may get out of reach._

            True enough.  Somehow Jonathan had been able to breathe, despite a hole in his arm.  He concentrates on that, tries to recreate the feeling, and it’s enough for him to be able to push to his feet, wincing as he does so.  _I’ve been through worse.  Push through it, Xander._

            “Well, it had to have been somewhere out of sight, or Fitz would’ve noticed, and given how he reacted to me, he probably would’ve used whatever LJ uses on it first and asked questions later.  And he probably wouldn’t have been as careful about destroying it, like he was with me.”  It hurts to talk, but he ignores that.  “So, maybe in an employee section?  It’s going to set off the alarm, but….well, it’s not the first time.”  He gets to his feet and hobbles to the door, takes a deep breath, and pushes it open.  “At least we don’t have worry about being arrested.  They couldn’t get me out of the mall anyway.”


	12. Stereo Love, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johan looks for the Stand and User before they kill him.

            He doesn’t make it far before it feels like he runs into a solid wall.  Johan runs his hand along it, but it doesn’t seem to have any seams.  He realizes quickly that he probably looks like a mime, and that’s too close to clowns, and clowns are creeps, and quickly returns his hand to his side, frowning.  “It’s probably useless, but you didn’t try punching it really really hard, did you?”

            He moves out of the way as Pretender charges the wall with a flurry of fists and a cry of “Torarararara!”  He concentrates, trying to feel for the pulse of life.  It’d worked for Darling and vampires and random passers-by.  Beyond this point, it’s vague and hard to concentrate on.  Fitz is still alive, as is Darling, but he can’t tell much more than that, and anyone else is vague, since he doesn’t know them.  Apparently, only his connection with the two Stand Users is enough to overcome whatever Stand Effect is cutting him off from the rest of the world.  _Well, that’s useless_ , he thinks, realizing that since Stands are weird and maybe not actually alive, he might not be able to sense them, either.

            And he’s startled out of that by a pain in his hands.  He has to shuffle backward a bit as the wall pushes against the toes of his combat boots.  He glances over questioningly, and Pretender looks a little sheepish.

            “It’s okay, buddy.”  His mind is racing.  How can he get out of this?

            He looks around, and Pretender catches his thoughts and looks around too.  Nothing obvious.  Nothing even non-obvious, like a gun or a strange wall (other than the invisible one) or a plug in a rock.  It probably was used when he was separated from the others and more vulnerable.  But he hadn’t gone far, so it would’ve had to have been quick.  The Slaypire?  (He’s proud of Dawn for that name, but now’s not the time.)  But how?  Surely, even if they were working with Wolfram & Hart, it would’ve taken longer to get the Arrow to them, or work out the contract.  Unless they were using some weird teleporty or time magic.

            If that _had_ been the User, he might be out of luck, because it’ll turn out to be like Notorious BIG or Anubis or something, and unless he finds the Stand soon…

            The vending machine is a good place to start.  He runs back out and in that direction.  He narrowly avoids someone who drops their shopping and then looks confused and vaguely upset, but doesn’t bother apologizing, since they either won’t hear or will forget two seconds later anyway.

            And there’s…there’s something weird.  It looks like a boombox.  A couple of people had brought those to school, but they had been changing to portable CD players.  Of course, he couldn’t really afford either of them.  Willow had gotten him a CD player on his birthday, and he’d carried it around everywhere until he’d accidentally broken it skateboarding.

            It’s blue and purple and has glitter and sparkles and goofy stickers all over.  How hadn’t he noticed it?

            Oh, that’s right, he had, but he’d been a little distracted by how thirsty he is and by a fight with one of the Slayers he’d recruited.  It’s a pretty powerful effect, but does that mean it’s indestructible?  He can get Pretender to Tora it a lot, or maybe just pour Hamon into it until it breaks.  Then he can rejoin the others.  It’ll—

            He falls flat on his butt maybe a foot and a half from it.  It took him too long to realize.  The invisible wall’s crept in enough he can’t reach.

            “Looks like you realized Stereo Love’s location, but it’s a bit too late for you.  How’s it feel to be a helpless, mute mime, unable to affect the world around you?”

            And with that sneering tone, a teenager steps from the shadows.  He sneers.

            Bronzed skin, like he’s been spending way too much time at the beach or in a tanning salon.  Metal curls around his ears.  Badly bleached hair, a hoodie and jeans that are falling apart, bare feet.

            _I should’ve noticed there was_ someone _else around who didn’t react to a Slaypire dusting.  This isn’t Sunnydale.  People don’t just pretend nothing happens as a survival mechanism._   He notices the kid is staying outside the wall.  _So both User and Stand are outside the range of effect…for the moment.  There has to be a weakness, though.  Every Stand has one._   “Why attack me?” he asks calmly, even as Pretender picks up one of the potted plants and hurls it at the User.  It smashes against the invisible wall with a tremendous crash, and the User flinches.

            _He’s got an ego.  He came back to gloat.  But he’s not confident which is why he’s staying carefully out of range like a coward._

            The User shrugs, squatting and staring with cold, cruel eyes.  There's something on his wrist, but it's too hard to see.  “Guess you could call it a final.  I pass, and I’m in.”

            “In what?”  _Some kind of group that requires a confirmed kill?  Why am I suddenly thinking Magneto’s mutants, that has no relevance on real life at the moment.  Dio?  No, as far as I know he’s dead.  I watched him dust myself.  Well…Jotaro did, but same thing, pretty much.  Dio worshipers?  Jotaro’s been worried about that for a while, and even Josuke is although he’s a little more laid back about it all.  Who’s collecting Stand Users?  Because if he’s the only one trying to pass this ‘final’, I’ll eat Speedwagon’s hat.  With a little salt and lots and lots of water._   He puts his hands over his ears, hoping to block out any sound the Stand boombox might have, but when he moves forward it has no effect.  The wall is as solid as ever.

            Another shrug at the question, a sneer at the action.  The kid’s aching to tell someone.  He’s nervous about this, whatever it is.  Isn’t sure whether it’s the right thing, isn’t sure whether he’ll survive.  But he also is afraid of talking about it.  “You’re going to be dead soon enough.  And if you think I’m the idiot who’ll spill all his plans, think again.”

            Stalemate.  He has to make his move soon.


	13. Stereo Love, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight with Stereo Love continues.

            Neither of them are ready for what happens next.  A voice interrupts their little ‘conversation’.  A familiar voice, English accent and all.

            “Excuse me!  Who are you talking to?”

            Fitz.  He came back.  He might not remember exactly what happened, but it bothered him enough that he just _had_ to come back and check.  Of course he would.  That’s how Speedwagon is.  Thorough.  Meddlesome.  He couldn’t just shrug off something like that.  He could walk away, but it’d just nag at him until he found out the answer.  That’s what had led him back to Xander, after all; led him to step in during the trial.

            _Keep talking.  Just distract him long enough for me to think of something._

            “I was just singing along with my rap.  What’s your problem, old guy?”  The User stands nervously.  If this is handled wrong, he’ll just grab his Stand and run.  And he might not get out of range in time to save Xander’s life.

            He looks around.  He can’t get anything out of the box…but maybe he doesn’t have to do that.  If he can get Fitz’s attention, keep him here, but not quite sure this is a Stand?

            _I’ve always wanted to play a poltergeist.  Well, that was mostly to terrify Buffy and Willow, although given their powers that might have been a suicidal move.  Instinctual reaction to attack, and all that.  Still, here?  It might be just what I need._

            The teen isn’t paying attention, nervously watching Fitz since he apparently thinks that Jojo’s out of the running.  It’s a mistake, but it plays into the plan, so he makes his move.  There’s a produce stand just there on the sidewalk.  It’s just in reach.  Pretender catches his thought and runs to the place, grabbing a few of the oranges.  The man gasps as the fruit raise, and Johan closes his eyes.  _Joseph, probably, because if this isn’t a stage trick I don’t know what is._   And slowly, with the farmer and Fitz gaping, Pretender manages to juggle.

            Fitz is frowning, massaging his head as he tries hard to focus on something that’s out of focus.  The farmer wants to start yelling, anger on his face, and yet he’s already starting to forget, looking at the missing fruit with a puzzled expression and quickly draining anger.

            “Don’t take that attitude with me, young man,” Fitz says, and it’s a call back to Giles, but he doesn’t have time for that.

            He’s standing with one hand on the wall, thinking as fast as he can, trying to hear the conversation, since anything outside is kind of muffled.  And he expects to be pushed back.

            …And isn’t.  It’s been long enough it should have contracted again, just a little.  Maybe longer.  He hasn’t been paying the most attention to the passage of time, which is silly in a case where the fight is literally timed, and this is real life.  He doesn’t get a retry button. 

            “Oh, so I should listen to every adult who thinks they know better than me and wants to lecture me.”  There’s strain in the voice.

            Out of curiosity, he pushes and feels a little give.  And sees the teen wince.

            _Of course.  It’s mentally based.  It may be ranged, but it’s not automatic.  It requires input—in this case, mental concentration—to maintain._

            And then he realizes something else.  _So that’s why he doesn’t want to fight two of us at once. Not only can his Stand probably only affect one person at once, any extra strain caused by fighting the other Stand User would probably break the prisoner free.  Maybe I can use that._

            He pushes a little harder and watches the sweat roll down.  _He’s panicking at the thought of fighting Fitz, too, and that’s enough to weaken the effect.  I just need to push him further._

            “You do realize that if you run, that’ll just make you more suspicious, right?”

            The teen doesn’t even turn around, but the wall doesn’t feel like glass anymore.  It feels like what Xander had imagined those ochre jellies DM Andrew the Breaker of Players had thrown at them.

            “It’s hardly a lecture.  I suppose I was asking for that by saying ‘young man’.”  Fitz may look more relaxed, but the way his green eyes fix the Stand User in a steel gaze, he hasn’t let up his guard at all.  He’s being a touch friendlier. 

            _You figured out making him run was a bad idea.  Good job._

            “I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything strange around you, have you?” he continues conversationally, earning a half-strangled snort.

            Then the teenage Stand User has to rush to cover up the mistake.  “This is the outskirts of London.  _Mate_.  Of course things are weird.”

            “I suppose that’s true,” Fitz agrees, watchful eyes sliding past toward where Jojo’s waiting.  Just out of curiosity, he adds a flurry of punches.

            “TORARARARARARARARARA!” Pretender yells, and if he’s not mistaken, there’s a hint of joy in that tone.  The kid definitely flinches, but by this point no one is hearing it other than him.

            Fitz notices, but the look in his eyes at the moment is almost…sympathetic?  “Is it drugs?”

            “Shut up!” the kid yells, and suddenly the invisible wall moves in by about a foot, throwing him into the opposite wall.  He hadn’t realized it had gotten this far.  “You don’t know me at all, so don’t pretend you care.  And don’t think you have any authority over me.  You’re just a nobody.”

            Fitz frowns, putting his hand inside his coat.  The air is thick with charged tension.  It almost feels like breathing pure hamon, or maybe that’s the pain in his back making it hard to breathe from how hard he slammed into that wall.  “Well, that may be, or it may not, but that’s not very nice to say to someone you don’t know, is it?”  It’s mild, but Johan who’s come to know that man and the tone he uses knows that it’s full of the promise of danger.  And then he realizes what Fitz is playing with inside his coat, catches the slightest glimpse of blue plastic.  He’d figured that out, too, on his own.  The kid shifts, hands balled into fists, trying to decide whether to run.  _That’s another problem.  If he goes for the boombox as he runs, it’ll be obvious.  If he leaves it behind, it might be vulnerable.  He’s safe for the moment, but it comes down to a race against time for the both of us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively titled Can't Take Me.  
> It's a good thing I was ahead on writing, considering how unmotivated I feel this week...


	14. Stereo Love, Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight with Stereo Love's User continues.

            And that’s when it feels like time stops.  It’s not timestop.  Johan knows what that feels like.  Can remember the sound of the clock and the utter silence that follows.  It’s something else.

            Slowly, he sees the kid fidget, and that’s when he puts the pieces together.  This feels like another type of Hamon, like all those stupid martial arts movies he’d watch where the disciple would get good enough and the perception of time itself would slow down, to the point where they had those lightning fast reflexes.  That’s what this feels like.

 _It’s not quite_ , the deep voice corrects him, and Pretender is kneeling over him, looking concerned.  _In case you didn’t notice, my innate powers—and yours—have to do with Hamon.  And yet, we’re also in an unstable version of the Colour and the Shape._

            Oh, yeah.  He can smell the sakura on the wind.  And, faintly…ashes.

_The power of breath.  The power in a dream.  They’re connected by promise, by hope, for what comes next.  You’re seeing through my eyes, but we don’t have much time and we can’t expend the energy like this, so we can’t stay here._

_You have the power, inside.  To overcome this obstacle.  You’ve used it before on the familiar.  Now it’s time to step into the unknown beyond the door._

            Xander wants to complain about all the riddles, but he’s suddenly thrown back into the real world gasping.  That might be a migraine.  He’s been pushed a little along the ground, though it hasn’t been as long as he expected.

            He has two choices.  To use whatever it was instinctually, or to bend under the pressure.

            _A Higashikata’s stronger than that.  Anyone of Joestar blood is stronger than that.  I want to actually meet Mom and Gramps in real life, not just speak to them over the phone.  I refuse to die here to this asshole, so what do I do.  How does it work?_

            He finds his lone eye drifting to the kid.  The Stand’s probably more important, and yet…

            _His heartbeat, the rush of his blood.  I can match it, beat for beat, but what will that accomplish?_

_…A scared punk.  That’s what he is.  Wants recognition, wants to not be a nobody.  Got a Stand; his first chance.  A bully, but too scared to be one on anything but online forums at first.  Still not quite confident, but oh, does he want it.  He wants someone to beg for their life.  He wants to break someone’s face until there’s blood coating the floor.  He wants respect.  Wants women to admire him._

            And suddenly, the emotions are his own.  The memories are his own.  It’s not quite the depth of, say, Jotaro or Joseph, but it’s still immersive, and if he focuses on this he’ll lose himself.  He wants to throw up at the alien thoughts rising in him.  _Quick._

            Movement behind them.  Fitz is still standing on the sidewalk, cautious but ready for violence.  The kid…isn’t.  He’s in the middle of the street.

            A driver, distracted behind the wheel.  Talking into a phone in his hand.  It’s large, a relic really, _but he’s not wasting money when he has a perfectly good phone_. _Truck delivery, running late._

            Jojo wrenches his eyes from the man and back to the kid.  Concentrates.  _Those memories.  Make him see you for who you are.  Powerful.  Not something to be forgotten just like that.  Make him beg._

            He _pushes_ , and his head hurts even more and the walls slide closed further.  He can’t straighten his legs fully.  He tries to push himself up a little so it’s more comfortable.

            He sees the kid’s eyes widen as he raises a fist and pounds on the invisible wall that has slid into place, making exaggerated gestures, but any sound he makes is faint, fainter than that of the normal area outside the box, and he feels…satisfaction.  There's sound, like that of an announcer, but it's about as muffled.

            And then confusion. That’s his mirror image, out there.  How is it out there?  Was that the Stand he was fighting? 

            And that reminds him of a wooden doll, and he snaps out of it, the effect sliding out of place like it had never been, and the driver looks up and screams, only there’s no sound for that or for the horn that has to be honking, and slams hard on the brake.  It won’t be enough.

            Fitz is yelling something, alarmed, reaching out a hand, but all sound outside has vanished.

            Pretender grabs him like he’s a doll himself and crouches, then pushes hard in a dizzying jump straight up, hoping that he’s not going to just crack his head open above.  At least the box seems taller than it is currently wide.  He touches for a second, but can tell the minute that the car hits the User because the wall abruptly disappears.

            He hits the top of the vehicle and rolls, falling off of the end and slamming against concrete.  He hears a loud crack and groans.  And then there’s suddenly a gasp and a rush of footsteps to his side.  “Jojo!  Jojo, what happened?  Are you all right?  How did I forget—that was the effect of a Stand, wasn’t it?  Hold on, I’ll heal you.”

            Johan buries his head in Fitz’s shoulder, starting to shake with the pain and the effort and the headache that has yet to go away.  “Kid was a Stand User, and if not for your paranoia, I’d be dead,” he explains, adrenaline rushing out of him now that he’s not in danger and he’s _drained_.  That was a hard battle.

            “Let it never be said that there _isn’t_ someone out to get you,” Speedwagon jokes, but his voice is shaking as badly as Xander’s hands as Lotus Juice sprays the youngest Jojo with a refreshing mist.  “Damn it, Jojo, I thought…I thought you were dead.”  Cursing?  Wow, he’s rattled.  Better defuse that a little.

            “Takes more than that to kill me,” Jojo explains with what smile he can manage, and then his stomach rumbles.

            That, at least, provokes a laugh.  “You never change, do you?”  It’s fond, and that kind of friendship is something Xander craves.

            He sits, gingerly at first, then faster when there’s barely any pain.  It’s still a little weird, like it’s freshly healed or something, and there’s bruising, but otherwise he has more energy than before.

            The headache’s the only thing that’s still there, and it’s probably because all the mental strain was due to Pretender.  Still, it’s better that than dying.  _Thanks._   He gets a reassuring surge of affection in return, and figures it’s a silent ‘you’re welcome’.

            “Let’s go back to Darling.  I figured that if there was a Stand User around, I should take care of it myself.”  Fitz helps him up with the same concern, and Jojo shakes his head.

            “I’m sure she didn’t appreciate that.  I know you’re trying to protect her, but leaving her by herself isn’t any more helpful.  What if she has to take on a Stand User all by herself?  It might not be so honorable, but ganging up on some tougher or more experienced opponent might be all the chance you get.”  Yet more Xander knows from experience.

            Speedwagon’s shoulders slump, but his hands are still strong as he helps his friend along.  “Well, we don’t want to get mixed up in the accident report.”  He pauses, then continues, “Did you kill him?”

            “No idea.  Don’t want to stick around to find out,” he replies, and that earns a nod.

            Behind them, they can still hear the panicked delivery driver proclaiming his innocence to the world.  “He came from nowhere!” he yells at the top of his lungs.

            Jojo snorts.  “I’m sure he did.”

 **「Stereo Love retire** **」**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Chapter Title: Talk of the Town. So there we are, the end of the first 'serious' Stand Battle!  
> ~Dreamer~


	15. Stereo Love:Stand Pic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picture of Stereo Love (yes, you could get it through the Stands So Far, too, just covering all bases...and I completely forgot that I did this in previous volumes to better match Jojo's format).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oKAY WHY IS EVERYTHING BREAKING WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME ARGH  
> I'M NOT SURE WHAT'S WRONG WITH THE PICTURE AND WHY IT'S NOT SHOWING. I SUSPECT IT'S HAPPENING WITH THE OTHER PICTURES, TOO. SERIOUSLY, NO IDEA WHY IT'S HAPPENING, I'LL INVESTIGATE LATER, I'M TRYING TO FIX EVERYTHING RN.  
> SORRY FOR THE TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES  
> ~dREAMER~  
> PS it's fixed. also it was apparently just this one chapter?? IDK  
> PPS CAn things STOP BREAKING


	16. Whispers in My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darling Violetta waits for Fitz to return and thinks about her parents...

            Darling sighs, ice cream mostly neglected and dripping onto her hand, staring after where Fitz had gone.

            He was a weird bloke, with his hat obsession and the way he talked and how awkward he was dealing with her and everything.

            Not a bad bloke; she was sure of that.  Someone had told her that.  She didn’t quite remember it, but she didn’t quite remember a lot of things, so that was fine.  She was sure someone trustworthy had told her that Fitz wasn’t a bad bloke, so Fitz wasn’t a bad bloke.

            He’d been gone a while, though.  And the two of them had had a vague sense that something was wrong and were trying to figure out what it was that was wrong on a bench for a while as they ate their ice cream, even as Fitz complained about the state of his wallet (and looked confused, like he’d accidentally spent more than he thought).  Who had suggested the shopping trip, anyway?

            “Do you think an enemy Stand User found him?” she asks Whisper in a low voice, and in reply Whisper slithers comfortingly around her hand as if to say “It doesn’t matter, because I’ll protect you from anything”.

            That’s why he existed, honestly.  That’s why he was one of the most reliable things in her life.

            She glanced up at the TV on the opposite wall.  It wasn’t loud enough to hear, but the subtitles said something about a bunch of people dying similarly, and that the police had yet to figure out whether it was an accident or homicide (or maybe suicide).  Fitz had been trying to keep the answers from her, as to what had happened to her adoptive parents.  Trying to protect her.  But Whisper understood the way he didn’t that she didn’t _want_ to be protected by ignorance.  Because if anything ever happened, she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, and she was stronger than he apparently thought.

            Someone else understood that too, but she didn’t remember who.  Whatever.  It didn’t matter.

            Fortunately, he hadn’t taken into account her being a thief. 

            Her head feels funny.  Empty.  Like it’s missing something.  She shakes her head.  That dizziness came out of nowhere.  It’s just…stress, maybe.  Or hunger.  She probably should eat the ice cream, however much she’s not hungry, and licks halfheartedly.  She feels a little better.  It’s just her imagination.  Nothing is wrong.

            Maybe he hadn’t figured that part out yet.  But no, he’d chased her without backup and almost died.  Because she’d been stealing from his hotel room.  He still wasn’t on his guard enough, though.

            She’d managed to get the printout he’d been staring at.  She even managed to return it to exactly the position it’d been in before he’d fallen asleep, head on the desk, snoring loudly.  And what it said.

            Well, it was scary.  She didn’t spend too long staring at the pictures.  It was bad.

            Apparently, though, a stabbing of a man and a woman had happened in the same exact house ten years prior.  The details hadn’t been released to the public, and the bloke had been shot by some other bloke when fleeing, so they’d considered the case closed.  They’d managed to put the shooter in prison, and that was all they really bothered with.  Well, the bloke who was shot was suspected criminal, anyway.  The evidence was pretty good, but they didn’t bother to look into it any further, which is why they were freaking out so much when it seemed like the murderer was back.  And all of the details (the MO or whatever?  she doesn’t remember the Latin but it looked super hard to pronounce) were the same, so it probably wasn’t just some copycat unless he’d left behind detailed instructions or something for an accomplice or whatever.

            She sighs again.  It’s probably been at least ten minutes.  That’s way too long for just a quick search.  Which means that there probably _are_ Stand Users here, which scares her.  She has to get ready. 

            But what if they’re sociopaths and they don’t have any emotions?  Will Whisper even work on someone without emotions?  
            “Stop that.  You can’t talk yourself out of a fight that hasn’t even started yet,” she tells herself sternly.

            And then staggers a little as she realizes something crucial that had been missing.  Something that she’d forgotten and hadn’t seemed more than a vague curiosity until now.  “Jojo!” she yells, and earns a few curious or annoyed stares.  She sticks out her tongue childishly, and they look away and hurry on.

            At least she’d not in her old clothes, or they would’ve tried to have her thrown out.

            But seriously, it’s something that deserves to be yelled.  She forgot he existed.  Of course Fitz didn’t come after her on his own.  He would’ve died without Jojo.  Which was her fault, so maybe a little of the awkwardness is of the ‘I almost killed you’ variety, but.

            But it’s Jojo.  Jojo, who understands what it’s like to be in a family that’s not that picture-perfect kind you see on TV.  Who’s funny and switches between accents all the time and seems like a big, gentle, clumsy goof and actually can get dangerous and serious.  And who knows how to deal with younger people without being patronizing.  How had she forgotten him?  That’s scary!

            Whisper curls tightly around her arm, almost enough to cut off circulation, but it’s enough.  She heads to the bathroom, using a few coins she’s picked up during the trip, and tucks herself into a corner.  Fitz will be angry, or just disappointed, later, because it’s filthy and these are new clothes, but she needs to calm down.

            It only takes about a minute of sitting wedged in with Whisper moving as she breathes to calm, partly because she realizes that Jojo and Fitz might need her help.  She stands, walking to the sinks quickly, and washes her face.

            And sees something behind her.  Movement, really.  She whirls around, and Whisper moves off her arm to float in a position to strike, just the second the enemy shows themselves.

            There’s just mocking laughter.


	17. Conversations with a Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darling converses with the voice she hears.

            Darling continues to look around, paranoid, but the laughter continues.  “There’s no point, looking around like that.  I’m just a whisper.  Your conscience, if you will.  And I’m curious.  Why do you even care?  You were the first to say that they were horrible people.  They probably even deserved what happened to them, so why do you care?”

            She shrugs at the mirror, careful.  “Yeah, they—they hurt me.  They weren’t good people.  But did you see how they died?  No one deserves that.”  It has to be a Stand User.  Or magic.  Jojo had told some funny stories about magic earlier, but he’d also made it clear that magic could be just as deadly as a Stand and she shouldn’t just mess around with it.  Still, it’s the way he says it.  He doesn’t treat her like a kid.  He gives her the facts, a warning, but it’s up to her to make the intelligent decision.  She likes that.  Nobody’s ever treated her like that before.

            “What if I assured you that the one who did it would get their punishment?  Would you leave Harris and Speedwagon behind?  Because they’re the ones poking their nose in when they shouldn’t.  You’re intelligent.  A survivor.  Get out while you can.”  The voice is persuasive.  Like it really cares, doesn’t want to hurt her.  And then she realizes part of why it sounds so alluring is that it’s doing the same thing Jojo does.  Giving her reasonable options, having the faith that she’ll make the right decision given the facts.  Mum and Dad just said “because I said so” or threatened her or just went and hurt her instead of warning about her beforehand.  It takes her a minute to dredge up what ‘Harris’ means, though, because Jojo’s right, the name really doesn’t suit him at all.

            Fear rushes through her, but instead of running like she would have before, she glances up at the mirror again.  Is it her imagination, or does she see the faintest glimpse of glowing red eyes in the mirror before they’re quickly gone?  She doesn’t crank her head around, though.  That might give away that she saw anything, assuming that this enemy isn’t in her head and doesn’t already know that she saw something.  She finds her courage and shakes her head firmly at the mirror, or whatever might be lurking in the mirror, or anything.  Is there such a thing as a mirror world?  Or is it really in her mind?  “They’re some of the first decent people I’ve met.”

            “But they’re marked for death,” the voice answers, chilling her to the bone, but it wasn’t like it wasn’t an answer she was expecting.  She got the idea that this would happen.

            “For trying to find a _murderer_?” she asks.  What kind of killer could inspire such loyalty?  Then a thought occurs to her.  She’s used to seeing Scotland Yard as the enemy, because they would report her to Mum and Dad or label her evil and a thief just for doing what she had to so she could survive.  But she doesn't want them dead, either.  Are they also marked?

            The chuckle is kind and compassionate and therefore insidious.  “What, you think it’s all about _her_?  Oh, if she wanted, she could get whatever she wanted from whoever she wanted, but she doesn’t bother with _me_ , or most of us really.  No, this is about something else.  Something you really don’t want to know, not if you want to live.”

            Whisper crawls up to her arm, comforting but in a position where it’s easy enough for him to strike, assuming they get any targets to attack.  Something tells her that this could be a trap.  The voice could be telling her what she wants to hear, news of the killer, trying to draw her in and kill her, but the easy way the voice says it…the voice doesn’t care about some murderer they even work with, does it?  So then why does it care about _her_?

            And then, as if hearing her thoughts, the voice answers.  “I’m telling you all this because I don’t want to fight you.  I saw you fight those two.  You could have killed them easily.  I don’t relish the idea of fighting you.  And in you, I see a reflection of myself, no pun intended.  We’re both survivors, practical people.  We don’t pick battles we don’t have to, do we?”

            Her eyes narrow.  There’s something wrong with the scenario as presented.  “If that’s the case, then why are you going after Jojo and Fitz?”

            The laughter’s friendly, but it sends chills up her spine.  The whole situation is creepy; why doesn’t the disembodied voice realize that?  “A calculated risk.  You’ve made those yourself.  The reward’s worth it, and they’re both lazy.  They haven’t had to deal with what we have, have they?  Ungrateful, taking everything for granted.  Who cares if they get hurt in the process?”

            There’s the hint of ugliness she was looking for, and it strengthens her weakening resolve.  “You’re wrong about Jojo.  He didn’t want to talk about it, but the way he reacted…he _understood_ what we’ve gone through.  And no, it wasn’t just a ploy to get my sympathy.  Most of his family’s awful.”  After she says it, she feels guilt gnaw at her.  Is it betraying a confidence, to tell this voice about Jojo’s life?  When he doesn’t even want to talk about it?

            There’s a long silence, long and empty enough she wonders if she’d scared it away.  Then it’s back.  “All right, you’re fairly convincing, and it takes one survivor’s pain to know another’s.  Very well—I’ll leave your Jojo of yours to someone else.  Sound fair enough?”

            She sighs, thinking about how awkward Speedwagon is.  It sounds fair enough, true, but at the same time she can’t just stand by as someone’s killed.  “Fitz is awkward, but he did look out for me in a way no one has before.  He’s not Jojo, but he still cares and tries.  Which is more than people have done before.”

            There’s a sigh in response.  “If that’s the case, I’m afraid we’re at an impasse, destined for conflict.”

            She readies Whisper, hardens her gaze toward the mirror.  “I’m afraid so.”


	18. Sons of Dixie, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darling Violetta has to fight the hostile Stand User...

            Darling sounds all strong, but she doesn’t feel the confidence in her voice.  She’s hearing this Stand User’s voice, but she doesn’t actually see anyone.  It’s a disembodied voice, so what can she attack?  Whisper’s really strong, but only if she has a target.  She’d even almost dealt with Jojo, which had been a mistake, which meant she’d almost accidentally killed a person, worse a nice person, but still.  He was strong.  And so was Fitz.  So if she’s strong enough to deal with Jojo and Fitz, if she hadn’t held back, and they’re really strong, and all those people who had tried to deal with her when she was just trying to survive, then she’s strong enough to deal with this person, whoever they are.

            Except that she has nothing to attack.  She can’t just randomly use Whisper on the whole room in the hopes of finding an invisible person.  Whisper is fairly strong, so she’d probably just succeed in destruction of public spaces, or whatever the police are likely to say.  If they catch her, which they’re on the run, so it might make their lives more difficult, even as the three of them might get away.

            Where are Fitz and Jojo?  Maybe they’re being attacked by a different Stand User at the moment; she can’t count on them riding in as cavalry to save the day.

            There’s another laugh, right behind her, and she glances over her shoulder.  There’s nothing.  So maybe it’s in the mirror.  Can Stands even exist in mirrors?

            She points at the mirror and instructs Violent Whispers, “Attack!”

            And the laugh grows louder.  “You have no idea how Sons of Dixie works.  No idea what you’re facing.”

            And Whisper rears up and hisses, feathered wings flaring out to their fullest extent, and strikes, breaking the glass into a thousand splinters.  It looks particularly impressive, and the voice goes quiet for a moment, so she thinks that she wins for a moment.

            And then the hiss comes again, and she only has a second to react before there’s a snake wrapped around her throat, choking her.  Whisper is attacking her.  She can’t breathe, and it’s all she can do to not remember old memories, rising to haunt her.  _It doesn’t matter, it’s not now, she’s dying now._ She’s dizzy, fighting for breath.  “What’re you—Whisper??” she croaks and doesn’t even recognize her own voice.

            Which makes sense.  After all, she’s unable to recognize her own _soul_.

            She tries desperately to remember what had happened when Whisper attacked in the throat.  She’s fairly sure she only used that particular attack once, on a security guard when she was really young and really scared that he’d catch her and throw her in jail.  That was before she realized that Whisper wasn’t just an ordinary snake and could make people hurt or feel emotions.  What had happened?  What was the side effect?

            It wasn’t the despair she feels for a bit.  Her only protection is gone.  That’s hands.  Worry is associated with the back.  Hunger with the stomach.

            Is it the crushing sense of betrayal?  Would Whisper even affect her, like he affects other people, because it’s part of her?  Is betrayal just the natural response of a person suddenly being attacked by their own Stand?  Or is it really Whisper?  Though even if Whisper isn’t making her feel this, she needs to get him off her throat soon or she’s going to pass out.  Her scrabbling fingers manage to find some purchase, enough to give her a few gasps of air.  The pressure slowly increases, like it’s trying to crush her throat completely.  _This isn’t how I want to die.  I don’t want Jojo or even Fitz to find my body like this._  

            There’s the anger.  And if Whisper was working, then she’d be feeling blood trickling down over her eyes, but no.  Apparently Whisper’s effects don’t work on her.  It makes sense, considering she pets Whisper all the time, and it’s possibly touch that does it.  (Or an attack, in which case it’d work now and not before, but the effect isn’t kicking in now, so Whisper just doesn’t work on her.)

            “What is your Stand?” she gasps, barely audible, but the creepy, chuckly voice certainly hears her.     

            “I’ll give you a hint—I already gave you one.  It was one of the first sentences I said to you, in this little conversation of ours,” the User responds.

            She’s incapable of thinking back and concentrating on that.  It seems so long ago, and her mind is a vague abyss. 

            And then she realizes something.  There’s something hollow in her heart, like something’s missing.  But at the same time, there’s something there, something deadened and hid from the world, but it is there.  And as she scrabbles at the scales, broken and wet from blood cut by the glass, her hands and body are untouched, even as her head swims.

            She hates violence but usually has a knife with her, because usually it’s practically useful for cutting cords or as a makeshift screwdriver or whatever.  And it’s worth a try now, especially if it’s part of her.  That’s more justifiable.

            She pulls the knife out and slashes.  It’s not very long, but it’s enough to cut the scales.  She waits for the inevitable pain.  Nothing.  Though that might be because she’s about to pass out.  She uses the flat of the blade to pry Whisper off her, even slightly, and gasp for air.  The air smells weird.  Sweet, but weird.  Her head’s still spinning.

            If she’s not feeling the pain, then…

            He’d said something about being a whisper.  Her conscience.  She’d thought he was just being metaphorical, but he was also quite possibly being literal as well.

            _Then that isn’t Whisper.  So what’s beside her, attempting to strangle her to death?_

            “That’s your Stand, isn’t it?” she manages, prying it off with one hand and a knife.

            The laugh, this time, is gentle.  “Well done, Darling.  Meet Sons of Dixie.  Sons of Dixie can replicate any power, including that of another Stand.  And since one person cannot have two Stands, well…you’re limited to the Stand under my power.  So, what are you planning to do now?”


	19. Sons of Dixie, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darling Violetta has to fight the Stand Sons of Dixie without her own Stand.

            It’s not the best idea.  She knows that.  She’s tried the move on security guards before and only barely managed to escape thanks to Whisper, but that’s not an option here, and if she passes out, well.

            She has no idea if the User plans to kill her.  Doesn’t want to give him the chance.  But in any case, it’ll hurt him, too.  Probably.

            Only one way to find out.

            She headbutts the snake.

            Her brains rattle around and it hurts, but she doesn’t miss the hissed surprise.  It’s not like when she tried it on an adult.  The snake might be as strong as Whisper, so the bones don’t break, but she also doesn’t feel like passing out and doesn’t see any weird shapes.  The other, though…

            “I suppose that’s an approach you could take,” he admits, voice strained, Sons of Dixie pulling away from her.

            Unfortunately, from where it curls up, floating above the ground, it can strike out at any moment and it’s out of reach.  She might be able to deflect it using the dagger, but that’s only if her reflexes are faster.  And Whisper is pretty fast.

            Besides, she’s pretty sure she’s holding back, subconsciously or not.  That’s not really Whisper, she tells herself, but her eyes still see her oldest friend.  Her only friend, for a while.  She’d found Whisper outside, wounded and struggling, and even though she’d been hurt, too, she fed him and nursed him back to life.  He was her pet.  Her secret.  He was there for her, curling up with her when she cried herself to sleep, alone.  He had her back when she had to steal to survive.  He kept her safe.  He liked her for who she was and didn’t try to change her or yell at her or judge her for trying to survive.  Maybe that was required for a Stand.  If it really was a part of you.  She realized, early on, that he wasn’t exactly a normal snake (normal snakes didn’t float when they felt like it, even if he could pretend when they needed to blend in), but this whole ‘he’s a part of her soul’ is new to her.  It probably did mean that it had to like you.  But that didn’t mean that she didn’t like him any less, or think of him as less of a friend, and that means attacking him hard.  It’s like if the Stand took the form of Jojo or Mr. Speedwagon.  She’d have a hard time attacking something wearing their shapes, too, even if she knew for sure it wasn’t them.

            Holding back isn’t going to help her win this fight.

            While she’s distracted, Sons of Dixie strikes, and it takes falling to the floor to get out of the way.  At least she’s practiced that, when getting out of places she isn’t supposed to be.  She hears the warning hiss again and dives into one of the stalls, pulling the door shut behind her, hearing the body slam against the plastic.  She quickly clambers onto the toilet seat, pulling her legs up.  It won’t work forever, she knows.  It’s only stalling for time, which isn’t exactly her friend.  She might have friends now, but she can’t count on them to show up and win the day.  Not because they don’t care or they’re false friends or anything.  Because this is the real world, and last minute rescues aren’t realistic.

            “Hiding like a coward isn’t going to help you.  It’s a lesson we’ve learned too well, haven’t we?” he asks.  She hasn’t noticed a sign of him being in the room, but she holds her breath and listens really really hard, just to be sure.  If he’s here, he’s doing the exact same thing as her.  Not that she’d exactly want to fight _him_ , either.

            She sees scales peek under the stall.  She strikes out with the dagger and it vanishes with an annoyed hiss.  “We could come from so many angles.  That isn’t exactly a fortress you have there, Darling.”  Frankly, if she wasn’t so scared the platitudes would begin to tick her off.  Not that he’s not being charming and persuasive and all that stuff, but the attitude like she doesn’t even have a chance is really getting annoying.

            And that’s when the idea comes to her.  It’s a crazy plan, but it just might work, because he seems to have trouble thinking of things when they seem unlikely or out of character.

            That also explains where he’s going to attack from.  He came in from the left, and was rebuffed.  So he’s probably going to attack from the right.  And above, because it’s something a normal person wouldn’t think of, given that it’s a snake after all, and it’s what she’d do.  So she waits, trying to still her breathing and staring at the spot.

            She only has a second to prepare.  It’s actually coming from the front to the right.  She sees it out of the corner of her eye; the movement as it strikes over the edge, and she doesn’t flinch or dodge out of the way or slash out with a brilliant blade.  Sons of Dixie actually _dodges_ like it was expecting an attack and then sinks fangs into her shoulder.

            It’s a good thing that Whisper isn’t physically poisonous.  Or this Stand would probably have been able to copy _that_ , too.  That’s not to say it doesn’t hurt.  It does, a lot, but she’s not unused to pain, and it’s not going to stop her from grabbing the snake around the throat.

            It surges its muscles into staying in the wound, like she’s just going to try to brute force drag it out.  Which is wrong.  While it’s biting her, it can’t do other things.  Like dodging.

            She holds the dagger carefully to the thing’s throat.  “What would happen,” she asks quietly, “…if I cut the throat of your Stand?  Or took off Sons of Dixie’s head?  It won’t be easy; Whisper’s not exactly a weakling.  But the scales aren’t like Lotus Juice.  It’s the power that makes them hard to touch.  And since you can’t copy that too, it just takes a little strength to deal with that.  Even if it takes a little while, I bet it’ll hurt.”  She didn’t miss the pained reaction to the snake.  If he was completely unconnected to his Stand, this wouldn’t work, but given that he reacted to the pain when Sons of Dixie got hurt, he was hardly unconnected to his Stand.

            Sons of Dixie freezes, like it’s trying not to antagonize her.  They remain a frozen tableau for a full minute before a chuckle meets her.  “I can feel your fear.  You don’t want to do this.”  No, she doesn’t, but if she doesn’t back off she doesn’t have a choice.  He wasn’t wrong; she _is_ a survivor.  “…But I can also feel your determination,” he adds quickly, as if sensing her resolve.  “I wasn’t wrong about your strength.  I believe you’ll survive this, too.  Just as you’ve survived me.”  Sons of Dixie begins to fade in her hands, just as the voice does.  “Just a warning while I can.  One of Harris’s relatives is on his way, but he’ll be waylaid.”

            She opens the stall door and almost expects to see eyes again, but there’s nothing.  “Wait, who?  Who’s attacking him?” she asks, but the feeling of watchfulness is gone, as is the heaviness on her heart, of her Stand, and she’s alone talking to an empty bathroom again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively titled Beautiful Moment.  
> Well, it's now time to wait for that Vento Aureo announcement.  
> ~Dreamer~


	20. Patience is Unbreakable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josuke tries to deal with this new world.

            Josuke might be Officer Josuke, self-appointed peacekeeper of Morioh, and have a better hold on his temper than when he was a teen.  For whatever reason, _none_ of the criminals he arrests have a sense of self-preservation, which means exactly none of them have the sense to not diss the hair, and he can’t just beat up normal criminals no matter how annoying they are and no matter the fact that Crazy Diamond means that he could hurt them without anybody ever even realizing it.  He has to set a precedent, especially with an impressionable infant in the house and a woman he loves with all his heart who trusts him _not_ to take justice into his own hands like that unless there’s no other options left.  After her death, there’s still a kid who needs a role model better than a certain cranky mangaka and a good habit to have in memory of her.  In general, he’s a lot better at this patience thing and doesn’t get the urge to punch someone just for looking at his hair funny.

            Well.  That’s actually a flat-out lie, but he’s better about not following up those sorts of impulses.

            That doesn’t mean that it was a wise idea to leave either him or Okuyasu in the hotel.  By themselves.  With nothing to do.

            He’d been angry at Jotaro-san for being the loose cannon and running off.  The guy might be his nephew, but he was the…well, older adult, at least, he should be responsible.  Then again, maybe as the uncle it’s his duty to be the responsible one.

            However, having listened to Okuyasu growl ever darker threats at anyone who would hurt his favorite ‘niece’ and realizing that punching the TV into a smoldering husk was beginning to sound pretty good, he’s starting to get the idea that Jotaro probably had the correct idea.  The last time they’d accidentally trashed a hotel, the Speedwagon Foundation had been there to clean up the place and smooth over what probably would have been an incident, and they’d been having issues getting ahold of the Foundation in this universe.  Not getting kicked out is probably a good place to start.

            He got pretty used to Josephine running off, particularly to check out shining objects.  She’d been creating portals to escape her _crib_.  She beat up a kid at school for having the audacity to kiss her.  He’d gotten used to the idea that she could take care of herself, but he was still her dad and so he had to balance the worry and the pride.  She could kick ass, with or without him, though he was pretty sure she really enjoyed fighting alongside him.

            He probably wouldn’t have come directly if not for the single fact that the two most unshakeable people in his life had _panicked_.  Neither Jotaro nor Josephine _did_ panic, as an emotion.  At least not at this level.  Koichi argues that those tense moments with Sheer Heart Attack counted, but he wasn’t there so he can’t really judge.  Anything that could get his little girl to panic enough to not just jump between two doorways using a ‘looks like it belongs in a horror video game’ hallway but actually jump _an entire universe away just to get away?_

            And he’d gotten something about Gordon Sarde, the sleazeball.  He didn’t really like the guy, and neither did Josie, which showed she had taste.  He wasn’t sure how the guy was involved, yet, but to join the Speedwagon Foundation, be a _trusted_ employee and then betray them all in some unspecified way?

            He doesn’t think he was even this enraged at _Kira_.  He’s having to comb his hair just to keep it down, just like his temper.

            “I’m _starving_ ,” Okuyasu whines at top volume, and they’re probably going to be getting a complaint from the neighbors but if that’s the least of their problems they’re lucky.  As in, they’re still alive.  To complain.

            “Well, that’s probably a good idea.  We’re no use to Josie or anyone else if we’re too hungry to fight.”  It’s just using an excuse.  Jotaro-san would never need an excuse, but then, he’s awkwardly straightforward like that.  Josuke could call it ‘reconnaissance’, since he’d recently heard that in a pretty cool movie and felt like using it.  Of course, young Jojo could call him on that, but then, she can call him on any of his crap.  She always could.  She had her mother’s intuition.

            At least she was fine.  And seemed a lot calmer than before, but he hadn’t really had that long of a conversation with her, so he couldn’t be too sure.  He hadn’t gotten another phone call to assure him that “Yes, Mr. Higashikata, everything’s fine, your daughter’s just causing trouble again,” which makes him worry about Mercia, but, well.  One thing at a time.

            He’d asked her to stay in the hotel, which he’s _fairly_ sure is this hotel but Jotaro-san had been the one to coordinate the plans to meet up and is now missing (read: looking for a fight to deal with the aggression and _maybe_ even deal with the one who made the darling of the family so scared).  He’d frantically asked the staff but they nearly called the cops on him, which was both alarming and highly ironic.  He wasn’t about to go knocking on all the doors, but he pulls out Crazy Diamond and has the Stand go into every room.  He’s _very_ careful to put the walls back exactly as he found them, thanks to his Stand’s power.  He doesn’t find her, but he does find a lot of extremely confused people who are probably all starting to wonder whether they’re hallucinating.  So she probably left, even though he asked her not to.  It’s not like he’s not used to it, but she could’ve at least mentioned it before she left.  Then again, for a woman whose Stand allows her to cross the world in just a few steps, it’s probably not that big a deal in her mind.

            At least Koichi had thought ahead and gotten him a change of clothes so that not everyone was staring at the uniform.  Though, to be honest, that’s one of the reasons he likes looking like a police officer—people are usually too busy staring at that to stare at his hair.  Still, he’s trying to blend in.  For now.  If he needs the authority, he can whip out the uniform again.

            He’s distracted by thinking about stuff, so doesn’t notice the giant monster that also ‘looks like it should be part of a horror video game’ when it tries to smash his face.  It’s Okuyasu who saves him from that particular fate using The Hand, erasing space to ensure that he’s not in the way when it tries to shred his head with meter-long claws.

            It’s just an unfortunate side effect that this also happens to end up with his head colliding, hard, with a fairly solid metal fence.  He winces and stares at what is probably the ugliest Stand he’s ever seen.  It’s made a dent in the concrete, which is better than a missing arm, but his head still hurts.

            “Thanks for the save, Okuyasu,” he responds.

            “Like I’m going to let my best friend get hurt,” Okuyasu replies gruffly.

            And then the Stand gets friends, which reminds him of memories of another Stand, bittersweet even after all these years.  Whoever this is has a swarm Stand, like The Harvest.  And…and the street’s a lot emptier than he remembers it being.

            “Great,” he grumbles, but quickly pulls out Crazy Diamond and moves toward Okuyasu so they can have each other’s back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I don't have to say that the title is ironic.  
> Celebrating Diamond is Unbreakable, and tying in previous chapters. Ones of particular interest might be Omakes 2 and 3 and War Council from Volume IV.  
> ~Dreamer~


	21. This World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josuke tries to wrap his head around the aftermath of the conference call.

            Okuyasu grimaces as he stares at the demon corpses.  Josuke never thought he’d be able to say he’d fought demons, but then, they _do_ happen to be in another universe, possibly with different rules of reality.  It’s easier to guess that demons exist only in this world, rather than being in his world, too, and he’s just oblivious.  Though for all he knows, that’s the truth.  He didn’t quite catch everything that had been said by the team of Stand Users or whatever they were—he and Okuyasu had been in the middle of a fight at the time, and despite the fact that it sounded like the projected sound followed him around rather than being concentrated in one spot or anything, he also couldn’t spare all the concentration to listen even if he could hear them.

            Still, he heard enough to know that he’s a grandfather.

            _Grandfather_.  He rolls the word around in his mind, but it doesn’t feel real.  It doesn’t feel real if he thinks about it in English or Japanese.  ‘Grandfather’ just calls up pictures (that still hurt, even after all these years) of another man in a police officer’s uniform.  Of a man to whose memory he had promised to keep Morioh safe.  Josie’s kid apparently has a Stand and knows how to use it, now, and is apparently twenty or so years old.

            Which is the same age as his daughter.  Or would be, if not for this weird time jump thing.  The age she looks after he’d saved her from looking half-dead, a soul-tearing parody of herself.  He wonders how Josie’s dealing with that.  Probably not that much better than he is.  Seriously, that’s just weird.  He’s _young_.  Too young to be a grandfather.

            And wait.  That means that, if not for Crazy Diamond, she’d be around _his_ age.

            Josuke’s seen some pretty weird things in his life, but that’s probably the weirdest thing he’s ever encountered.  It’s probably best if he doesn’t think about it too much.

            Still what’s the kid like?  He grew up in America, right?  Would he join in on the video game tournaments that sometimes got out of hand, alongside Kakyoin, himself, and Josie?  What’s his name?  He hadn’t even asked.  Or expressed his congratulations.  Just kind of roundabout indicated he didn’t want to miss any of it.  He wanted to be there for his daughter and any future kids.  But that could go without saying, right?  What had he even _said_?  He’d been in the middle of battle and it was kind of a lot to drop on anyone.  Not that Josephine hadn’t felt any differently, probably.  She probably got that he was family, of course he was, and they’d all get whatever support they needed.

            “Demons aren’t that weird, right?” Okuyasu asks quietly.  He’s staring at Josuke like Jojo’s going to lose his mind at any second and Okuyasu’s going to have to deal with the fallout.

            “No.”  He quickly shakes himself out of the daze.  “It’s just that I’m a grandpa.  Apparently.”  That sounds a little better than grandfather, but not by much.

            “Nice!” Okuyasu yells and slams him on the back so hard he’d fall over if he didn’t have practice _not_ doing that.

            “B-but,” he mutters, not meaning to say much of anything.  He’s just a little in shock.

            “Hey, you raised Josephine and you got us,” Okuyasu points out, the voice of reason.  For once.  “It’s nice to have more family,” he adds, and as bright as the words are there’s a dark undercurrent that Josuke understands completely.

            Josuke smiles and nods and they start walking again, looking for food, now that fighting has made them _really_ hungry.  They finally find a place that looks like St. Gentleman’s Bakery, and they’re too hungry to be too picky.

            Okuyasu realizes that Josuke’s still off kilter, since he tells his friend to just sit down at one of the tables outside.  He probably should argue.  Okuyasu’s English is hardly the best, so it’ll probably lead to confusion and a longer wait, but he’s feeling too mentally exhausted to argue, so he sits obediently.

            “Hello, sir?”

            He shakes his head and glances up.  It’s an old man, complete with a cane.  It reminds him of his own old man.  But he’s clearly not Joseph.

            “I’m sorry to bother you when you’re in thought, but I was wondering if you could give me directions?”

            He smiles and shakes his head.  “I’m not local,” he answers politely.  “I’m afraid I won’t be of much help.”

            The man looks so dejected that he automatically stands up.  It’s an instinct trained from babysitting Joseph Joestar and from years as a police officer.  “Is there anything else I can do?”

            The old man looks reluctant.  “I don’t think I should trouble you any further,” he states hesitantly.

            “I’ll help how I can,” he promises.  “I can try to get directions on my phone.”

            Black eyes slightly unfocused by age squint past him.  “Is that a map across the street?” he asks, voice wavering.

            Josuke turns to look and then nods, smiling again.  “Do you need help across the street?”  Given the reluctance, he can tell the man’s about to refuse, fearing he’s a burden, and Josuke shakes his head.  “Never mind; I’m helping you across the street.”

            “You’re such a nice young man,” the elder acknowledges.  “As long as I’m not bothering you.”

            “It’ll take a little while for the food to get here, trust me,” he reassures the man and takes his arm and walks to the crosswalk.  He’s regaled with a few tales of grandchildren (which he listens to with a lot more interest than usual, and he _usually_ listens to elders out of respect, due to the fact that they’re now personally relevant).

            They make it to the sign, and then they’re out of sight.

            Okuyasu walks out of the restaurant carrying two plates.  And frowns.  “Josuke?  Where’d you go?”

            There’s the sound of a slight wind but otherwise nothing stirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This volume is otherwise known as 'the one where all the Stand Users attack'.  
> I'm having a blast so far.  
> ~Dreamer~


	22. Back in Time, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josuke wakes up in a snowstorm with little idea of how he got there. (Hint: it's a Stand attack, because it's always a Stand attack.)

            Josuke’s freezing.  And that’s possibly an understatement.  His mind’s a little fuzzy as to how he got here or what he was doing.  There was something important, something that he had to remember, but it’s gone now.

            At least he’d taken to carrying around a couple of the buttons of his gakuran once he’d finally graduated, just to have something to remember his school years by.  It was enough he was able, using Crazy Diamond, to recreate the whole thing and pull it on.  It was warmer than the really thin long-sleeve he’s wearing.  And he hasn’t grown too much, in _any_ direction, which means it still fits pretty well.

            It’s hard to trudge through the snow, which is most of the way up his calves.  Even harder to see or hear.  It’s practically a blizzard, with zero visibility and a muffling of all sound.  He pulls his arms to himself, teeth chattering.

            It also feels vaguely familiar, but he can actually sit down and think about _why_ after he gets to some shelter.

            He has the weird feeling that he’s being watched, but he can’t see anyone through the near _sheet_ of white and isn’t sure how anyone else could see, either.  Unless it’s a Stand.  He sends Crazy Diamond out as far as his Stand can go to look around, but doesn’t see anything different, just a wasteland.  Jotaro and Star Platinum would be really useful right about now.  But they’re not here, and he can’t remember why they’re not here.  He starts shaking even more violently when Crazy Diamond is out scouting around, though, so figures he’s using up vital energy and recalls his Stand, continues trudging.

            Something looms out of the dark, and on instinct his Stand punches it.  It turns out to be a snow-laden tree, and the impact is enough to shake a good chunk of snow onto his head and shoulders.  Where it starts to melt, and make him even _colder_ in the icy wind.

            He’s really tempted to steal his nephew’s catchphrase right about now.  But there’s no use grumbling about it.  He quickly brushes off what he can (and punches the clothes, again, with Crazy Diamond, trying to get as much of the snow off as he can).  There’s nothing he can do about the snow resting on his pompadour, though.

            The wind slows, a little, and he can see little posts like the ones you’d see along the side of a road, and that’s at least a place to start.  So he starts following them.

            He finally sees what look like car tracks, and that’s definitely a good sign.  Before this point the tracks had probably just been covered by the snow.  If he follows a road long enough, he’ll find shelter.  Hopefully, he doesn’t die first.

            And then he makes out a car, or what looks like a car, in all the snow, and breaks into a run.  And promptly trips on something hidden by the drift of snow and falls, face-first, into the snow.

            His face _hurts_.  It feels like he was attacked, but he doesn’t have time to wipe the blood away.  It bites at the hands he uses to prop himself up, so he uses Crazy Diamond (which hurts a bit less) to push himself up and get to his feet.  Maybe it’s a little weird, but it’s nice to be able to give himself a hand.  He sees the drops of red in the snow, and then looks up at the car, an actual destination, somewhere he can maybe get warmth at the very least, and begins walking again, brisk but more careful, because he’s not sure how many more spills like that he can take.

            And then he slows.

            The car is stuck in the snow.  Why does this seem so familiar?  There’s a memory trying to crawl out of his mind.  He just can’t quite make it out.

            He sees the woman in the front seat, and his brain short-circuits.  There’s…there’s no way.

            But no, he recognizes the woman at the driver’s wheel, and it’s enough to get him to stop, stock still, in the snow.  “M-mom?” he whispers, word torn away by the wind, and then knows: _this is a Stand attack._   And also: _he can’t mess this up_.

            All this time, his hero, the one he’s been imitating, is…himself.  That snowy night when he was four, the time he almost died…

            _And if I freak her out too much or don’t get her and younger me to a hospital, I’m dead.  But I’m not sure if I can even touch younger me without it being a problem, according to fiction and video games, so…plan B._

            He can tell the minute she sees him in the rearview mirror.  Her head swivels around to stare, and he can tell she’s taking in the uniform and the blood.  “Wh-what do you want?  Go away!” she yells.

            She probably thinks he’s a punk, and is going to try to rob her or…something.  He’s not really sure, and he’d really like some warmth right about now, but there are more pressing concerns, like making sure he doesn’t die in the past.

            He glances in, and it’s a little alarming to see himself, sweating and feverish, so vulnerable in there.  He can’t be too familiar or too…anything, though, or she’ll just freak out.

            “That kid is sick, right?  I’ll push your car for you,” he offers.  It’s not really an offer, since he’s not about to listen if she says no, but it seems more polite and won’t have her attack him or anything.  And this _is_ his mom.

            “Huh?”  She doesn’t know, has never really known, how to act when someone does something unexpected, but he gets to work.

            It’s freezing, but he can fix his gakuran after he gets her unstuck and on her way, so he pulls it off and lays it in front of the wheel.  He moves to the back of the vehicle and begins to push, helped (not that she can see) by an extra pair of white-and-pink hands.  He doesn’t trust his physical strength right now.

            And she’s just staring at him, confused.  That’s not really going to help the situation, at all, so he raps on the window to get her attention.                                                                                                                             

            “Hurry up and step on the gas,” he advises, because he needs her to get going.  “Once you get moving, don’t stop.  Just keep going, or your tires will get stuck in the snow again.”  And he’s not sure his strength will last long enough to help a second time.

            “O-okay.”  She nods and faces forward again, stepping on the gas.

            He can feel his own gaze, but the kid’s so young and (he can say from experience) so out of it that the memories will be vague.  He won’t realize that he’s seeing himself.

            He gives one last push with the last of his strength, and the car’s finally moving.

            “Thank you!” she shouts in joy, and he has Crazy Diamond fetch the coat, placing it gently in his hands.  It flies a little, in the wind and the snow.

            He smiles, weakly but it’s there.  It’s a triumph.  “You’re welcome, mom,” he mutters.

            It’s a Stand attack.  He’s still not sure when he got attacked or how the rules work, but he survived this once.  He’s fairly sure it’s not over, though.

            And then he falls forward into the snow, all strength gone, and it’s as if it swallows him, because two seconds later even the imprint has vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this isn't really a new headcanon but I wanted to write my own take on it (and get Josuke out of the way for a bit, and play around with Back in Time because it's a seriously fun Stand).  
> ~Dreamer


	23. Back in Time, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josuke's trying to deal with the Stand attack.

            Josuke gasps and sits up abruptly.  That just makes him dizzy, so he sits for a moment quietly breathing before attempting to move again.  It’s time for him to catalogue what he remembers.

            A Stand!  That’s right.  He doesn’t remember having seen the Stand, but he’d ended up on that snowy night, and if he’d messed up that encounter he’d be dead.  Or worse.

            And…that’s right, he’s a police officer now, not a student, despite the gakuran.  Which is now dry, as if nothing had happened.  And he’d gone after his daughter, Josephine, because she’d freaked out when she’s not the type to freak out and escaped from _something_ into another dimension, and, he’s pretty sure, got herself hit with Incognito, which means there’s a Dora with Sarde’s name on it.  And he’d been with Okuyasu, and they’d gotten anxious waiting for the others to get back, and…

            He frowns.

            There’s something else that’s hiding on the edge of his mind, a vague memory, but he might not figure that out until the _next_ jump.

            He looks around, trying to place himself.

            It’s…it’s Morioh.  He doesn’t completely place the neighborhood—it’s kind of surreal, really.  He’s been there on a beat before, but it’s different, like some of the shops changed or something.  And there are less trees than he remembers.  He thinks.

            People are staring at him curiously, including an old woman, a middle-aged man, and a woman with two children.  It’s a busier street than he remembers, with a more diversified age range, too.  He guesses he looks a little shocked and is just standing around in the street.  He puts his hands in his pockets and starts walking.

            It’s a little aimless.  Mostly he’s just trying to get a grasp on what’s going on, where he is.  Well, _when_ , really, to be specific.  He tries to remember everything he knows about time travel.  He knows that Josie really liked one trilogy in English, but it was after a really long day and he was only half awake.

            And then he hears a really familiar yell.  “Hazamada!”

            It’s his voice.  It’s no less disturbing after years and years, since the last time he faced a doppelganger like this, and what’s worse is, he doesn’t remember this happening at all.

            That realization hits him with the impact of a train and he nearly screams.  There’s something like a vice on his head, putting pressure on until his skull breaks and ends up some disgusting goop.  He _can’t_ let that stop him, though, or it’s only going to get worse for his past self and his current self.  So contradictions could quite possibly kill him.  And he can’t use Crazy Diamond.  Instead, he just mutters “great” under his breath and starts running. 

            It’s lucky that the light hasn’t turned so his past self has to wait a bit to start chasing him.  It’s also lucky that he’s in better shape as a police officer than he was as a teen.  And that he’s got a better knowledge of the city.  He finally manages to lose the other and practically collapses on a lawn.

            “Don’t tell me you’re going to cause any trouble for me,” another very familiar voice warns, and he tenses, feeling panicky, before realizing the Stand-induced headache is going away, though it’s like he can still feel the echoes of it in his skin or something.

            Of course he’d manage to lose past Josuke around Rohan’s house.  But just because the bastard was hostile meant that this might actually be helpful—the mangaka wouldn’t (likely) bring this up in a casual conversation with his other self at any point simply because the two didn’t do casual talk because they hate each other’s guts.

            “Stand User,” he answers accidentally, before flinching again.  The headache doesn’t return.  He sits up cautiously.

            “Of course it is.”  Rohan sips his tea, glaring over the top of what looks like a foreign newspaper disdainfully.  “Are they likely to attack me, too?”

            Josuke can’t quite believe his ears.  “Are you really that selfish?”

            “I happen to have a deadline to meet.  Something a reckless brat without a job wouldn’t understand.”  He places the paper carefully on the table.

            Josuke feels his hair beginning to stand on end and begs himself to calm down.  Losing his temper here helps nothing.  Besides, Rohan won’t believe him when he explains he’s a police officer, especially given what he’s wearing.

            He stands, ignoring the man, and walks inside the house, because he feels like he’s being watched again, and it’s only a matter of time until someone decides to look here, since he was supposedly lost somewhere near here.

            “What do you think you’re going?  I didn’t invite you—” Rohan complains, and he ignores that too.  He feels like someone’s watching him, again, but he hasn’t gotten attacked yet which means that it isn’t any of his friends.  Still, he has the feeling that he’s not going to be lucky enough to avoid them forever.  It seems like the Stand is putting him in situations where it’s hard to avoid changing the past, so he heads up the stairs without stopping.  He doesn’t pay too much attention to the mangaka currently yelling something about trespassing at him.

            He has good instincts, at least.  The doorbell rings after he’s upstairs for no more than a minute and a half. 

            “Don’t get the door,” he hisses. 

            The mangaka calls down, “It’s unlocked!”  (At least he got Heaven’s Door out; he’s not a complete idiot.)

            He looks around frantically for somewhere to hide.  “Why did I expect you to help me at all?”

            Rohan shrugs.  “I don’t know.”

            He runs into the workroom and breaks through the window, and Rohan yells after him, “You’ll pay for that window!”  Josuke tries desperately to remember if he’s messed something up but his head isn’t killing him and all he vaguely remembers is one day when Rohan was being annoying and kept saying something about a debt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might revisit this chapter later; I'm not 100% happy with it. I've had a headache (probably due to stress and/or lack of sleep) for most of this week, and tests are coming up that I really need to study for. I've also had a bunch of ideas but when it comes to actually writing any of them...so head's up if this series goes on brief 'I'm in school' hiatus that's why. Also because this Stand's awesome and I don't feel I'm quite doing it the justice it deserves (compared to part I).  
> ~Dreamer~


	24. Back in Time, Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josuke starts planning a counter attack.

        Josuke is really starting to get sick of the snow.

        It’d always been…well, a novelty.  It’s not like it snowed in Morioh all that often, which made that blizzard that much weirder.  And, he supposes, he’d always kind of associated it with comfort.  Being safe.  Just like a pompadour was a hero’s hairstyle.

        Maybe that really had been him.  Depends on how the Stand worked, whether he actually had been messing around with reality-as-it-had-been, or whether it only changed things if it managed to erase him from existence, and now that he thinks about it, he’ll never really know.

        But now he’s learning that snow is treacherous.  It promises comfort, but it’s sometimes a lie.

        Being someone else in the snow was fine.  Being the hero in the snow was a lot colder and more uncomfortable, and he realizes that the wound on his face still hasn’t healed.

 _Damn it, Rohan._   Of course the mangaka had noticed and not asked him if he was okay or anything else.

        He pulls the gakuran tighter around himself and sticks his hands in his pockets and keeps moving to stay warm.  He’s cursing Kishibe (not an uncommon thing) and trying to remember when in his life he’s been in snow like this _again_.  Is it possible that the Stand sent him back to the same time _twice_?  So far, it seems like it’s slowly throwing him forward in time, from when he was four dealing with the side effects of gaining a Stand to when he was sixteen learning about Stand Users and trying to save the town.  Then again, two moments is hardly enough to make a pattern from.

        It’s a shock when his phone rings.  He didn’t remember he even had it on him, let alone think anyone would call him.  It’s not like someone can place a call through time.  Can they?

        He checks the caller ID.  And groans.  It’s Jotaro-san.  If anyone’s not going to give up, it’s his nephew.

        But, wait, what if he answers at the same time as his past-self?  That would definitely be a problem.  He decides to ignore it on the first couple tries, because usually if the other person has to redial two times or so, he’s not by his phone.

        And then be very careful about what he says.  On the other hand, if _anyone_ can help him fight this Stand User or at least give him an idea about where he is and _when_ he is, it’s Jotaro-san.

        His nephew keeps calling, most likely muttering ‘yare yare daze’ under his breath.  When he’s as sure as he can be that his past self isn’t going to answer, he hesitantly hits the button to answer the call.

        He can hear the frown in the man’s voice.  “Josuke.  Why are you in Russia?”

        He blinks and feels his heart seize uncomfortably.  “What?”  His breath is coming faster.  It’s getting colder.  _Not another blizzard_.  He’s going to have frostbite if not worse after this.  But…

        If this Stand is giving him his own personal tour through memory lane, there’s only one reason he’d be in Russia.

        He instantly falls, burrowing himself into the snow.  There’s no other way to hide himself effectively, since there are no trees.  It’s barren.  If not for the snow, they probably would have seen him already.

        And, hang on if it’s Russia, why does he feel like someone’s watching him?  With Rohan’s house, it made some sense, because he was a guy with blood on his face running through the city like he was being chased, which he was, but…and then, in the snow of Morioh-cho…

        “Yesterday you were in Morioh.  I know you’re worried about your daughter, but…” Jotaro-san continues, and it’s about the level of emotion he expected from his nephew, but there’s something off about it, in a different way than Jotaro-san’s weird mood for…months?  “…while Josie could have gotten you, we’ve lost contact with her.”

        “Stand attack,” he explains, and doesn’t even feel the world tremble.  “And be quieter.  I don’t want to draw his attention.”  If there’s a point where he’s tempted to change things, it’s now, because he knows there’s not a moment that his Jojo regrets more, even if it turned out fine, and he reminds himself of the pain and if he breaks space-time, there won’t be him or Josie or even his grandson.  The only time more tempting would be when that bastard Sarde scares his daughter and her best friend into another dimension, but again, he _can’t_ change things.  He can’t.

        No matter how tempting.

        It might make things even worse.  Or break the world entirely.  Or other not-so-great things to be avoided.

        To his credit, his nephew instantly shuts up.  “How can I help?” he asks, and Josuke tries to decide exactly how much he can tell his nephew.

        He hears movement on the snow and scrunches down even further, the cold biting through his skin.  “I keep being teleported.”  Nothing.  Then again, he can probably tell Jotaro-san anything and he’ll keep it secret and not tell anyone anything because that’s the kind of guy he is.  He’s actually kind of lucky it was his nephew that called and not anyone else.  “Even if I defeat this Stand User, I may not remember.”  Again, nothing but a gust of cold wind and snow.  “I’m trying to figure out how to defeat him without messing anything up.”  He gasps a little as the four come into view—he recognizes Jojo and Mercia and that bastard Sarde, but not the fourth with the Arrow and really dorky looking glasses.  Still, he knows exactly what this is, despite the innocent appearance, and how it plays out.  How it _has_ to play out.

        At this, Jotaro-san snorts.  “Time travel Stand, huh?”

        Josuke gapes at his phone and takes it away from his ear, staring at it.  There’s no way he heard that correctly.  None.  The world doesn’t waver.  “E-excuse y—”

        Running.  Other more noticeable noises.

        “Who’s a _living_ expert on Stands that manipulate time?” Jotaro-san’s amused now. 

        He stops to think about his experience fighting Stand Users.  Thinks about the eyes he keeps feeling on him, even when it makes no sense.  “What’s the likelihood this is a distance Stand?”

        He glances over and sees the man dance out of the way of B3’s rush attack, glasses askew, and pull back the bowstring in a smooth, practiced motion.  He’s aiming directly at Josephine.  His heart stops and he almost doesn’t hear the reply.

        “Almost nothing,” his nephew responds immediately.  “That kind of power requires a lot to maintain, if Star Platinum or any of the ones I’ve fought or heard about are any indication.”  He pauses and then sounds thoughtful.  “Actually, all the ones I know about are close-range Power Stands.”

        “I keep feeling someone watching me,” Josuke explains.

        He hears the twang of the bow even above the howling of the wind, hears the desperate scream of his daughter and the crunch as the arrow strikes through Mercia.  He remembers the same panic, the same terror, with Koichi.

        He can’t interfere.

        It helps that he knows how this ends, because it’s the only thing keeping him from bolting to his daughter’s side.

        “How far in the future are you?” Jotaro-san asks, and when Josuke makes a noise of protest mutters his signature “yare yare daze”.  “I’m trying to calculate range,” he elaborates calmly.

        The problem is that _when_ in the future he is makes almost no sense, given the whole dimension travel on top of everything else.  He tries to work it out.  It’s been about twenty-five years at this point since he was a student trying to find the asshole murderer in Morioh-cho (well, before the police badge joined the other pins in his collection) if he’s going by his own age, but only about…hang on, if he’s counting from the point he was at where he’s got a grandson, he’s in the _future_ by nineteen years.

        His head’s starting to hurt.  Math is even harder when you’re trying to ignore the trauma your daughter’s going through, because stepping in would be worse than saving her friend.

        “Josuke.  Still there?” Jotaro asks.

        But if his nephew’s asking about this, it’s the furthest he’d gone that’s important.  So that’d be the first jump, to 1987.  Going by age, that’s thirty-nine years, or less if he goes with the date he left from.  “The most it’s been is thirty-nine years, though honestly it’s probably less,” he answers eventually, making a face.  He’d laughed along with Okuyasu when his teachers had told him he’d need math in his daily life.

        “Answer quicker next time.”  Jotaro-san replies, sounding annoyed.  He’s probably _actually_ worried, not that he’d say so.  “Probably not your first jump.  If it’s that far out, there’s absolutely no way it can be long range, not with the amount of energy it’d take.  Even if the Stand was near you all the time.  How does the teleportation work?”

        He sees where his nephew’s going with this.  “It doesn’t look random, no.  I have a close call, I manage to avoid it, I get teleported.  Which means it’s not a remote Stand, because that’s a higher level of control than just a Stand would be capable of.”

        He hears another scream and can’t help but glance up.  The man has crossed the distance between himself and the three.  He apparently pulled the arrow out of Mercia and immediately plunged it into Sarde.  “So,” he whispers, trying to stay calm, “…find the User, beat him up, don’t be noticed in the past.”

        “I’d wish you luck,” Jotaro-san replies gruffly, “…But you don’t need it.”  He hangs up.

        “Thanks anyway, Jotaro-san,” he mutters into the wind as he puts the phone away.  And then he closes his eyes, because he feels a little dizzy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm back! Until the end of Back in Time at least.  
> The previous chapter came from a point in time where it was planned that he'd be dodging his cop self with the help of Jotaro. Whenever I reach the end, it may get added in a second draft, I dunno.  
> Once I reach the end (there's material for a month) there might be another hiatus. Depends on how busy volunteering + job searching goes. Still, I'm excited to introduce the newest character.  
> ~Dreamer~


	25. Back in Time, Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The User of Back in Time steps up his game.

        When he opens his eyes again, he’s hiding in some bushes.  That’s an awfully convenient place for the Stand to drop him, which makes him instantly suspicious.  If he’s in some bushes, he won’t be seen, which is the exact opposite of the point of the Stand, so there’s some sort of trick here.  Still, no one’s looking at him directly, which means, for the moment, he has the advantage.

        This is the time to look for the enemy.  He still feels that gaze on him, which means the User has to be close by.  He’s not sure of his window of time, but he’s not just going to wait and try again.  Not when it’s jeopardizing the ones he loves.  For all he knows it’s not going to go consistently forward in time and will teleport him to his wife’s funeral—or, worse, the hospital beforehand.

        Whoever or whatever is stalking him has to be hiding in the same way he is, or they would’ve been noticed, too.  Unless the User going unnoticed is a characteristic of the Stand itself…but no.

        The User can’t be invisible.  That would make the Stand invincible, and no Stand is invincible.  It could be that he just has to make it through all these jumps without changing the past, but he’s not willing to wait that long.  If nothing else, he’s had close calls the last two times.  He can’t keep relying on luck to keep him from breaking the past as he remembers it.

        Unfortunately, they’re either hiding in bushes or behind that concrete wall over there, so he hasn’t spotted them yet.  He nearly starts to get up to check and maybe get some sort of reaction from the User, but he hears footsteps and gets back down just in time.

        An unfortunately familiar blond man walks past, and his hairdo stands on end with the force of his hatred, but he wills himself back.  It’s only the fact that he knows he pounded Kira’s head into the pavement and then the monster got run over by an ambulance that lets him stay calm and in place.  He doesn’t have his comb to get his hairdo back to normal, either, but movement would probably draw attention right now and he can’t afford that, despite the urge to make sure everything’s in place.

        And then someone else he recognizes jumps over the concrete wall, and his heart jumps into his throat and he can’t quite hide the gasp of pained surprise.  It’s Shigechi, alive.  The guy could sure be annoying when he was alive, but then he’d died, yet another of Kira’s victims, and Josuke’d realized that he should’ve been nicer.  He and Okuyasu had been thinking about how to trick him and use him and—seriously, using someone else’s friendship like that was anything but great.

        “Found it.  Why does someone I don’t know have my sandwich?” Shigechi asks, and yeah, of course he’d still be obsessive and stubborn about his food and—really?  Was that what it took to find Kira?  Where had he been hiding, anyway?  Had he been—had he been five feet from them at the time and none of them knew?  Yeah, okay, maybe Kira would’ve killed them all, but—

        Maybe, maybe they might’ve saved Shigechi?  Is that what this Stand is showing him?

        He’s biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, and oh yeah, there’s still blood crusted on his face, and he can’t interfere, can’t—

        Harvest just pulled that bag apart.  That’s a hand.  That’s one of Kira’s—what the _hell_ , who does that, who just kills people and carries around their hands in a paper bag meant to contain food—

_Criminal scum like Kira, that’s who._

        Shigechi’s just as freaked out as he is.  And actually asks a good question, about who carries around hands in bags, and gets a creepy feeling about Kira, and even if he hadn’t been _intelligent_ , he’d sure had a lot of common sense.  Maybe even more than they did, back then.

        And then Kira starts telling Shigechi about the little, mundane details of his life, and Josuke tries to hold his breath, because the suspect only ever does that if they know the hostage isn’t going to make it or if they have an ego and Josuke suspects it’s a little bit of both.  Those mundane details are a decent way of tracking down a suspect.

        He clenches his fists when he hears that the serial killer says he has no stress.  And that he wants to live a quiet life, because he doesn’t deserve one, at all.  And he talks about elimination, and Josuke is completely, utterly still, because he can’t risk moving.

        Shigechi’s a second from killing Kira, slicing the carotid, but the killer tricks Shigechi into taking the coin, and Josuke knows, knows without a shred of doubt, that it’s been turned into a bomb, and Shigechi gets exploded.

        “No!” he screams, and a second later realizes what he’s done.  Shigechi’s bleeding face turns to his, disbelieving and confused and in agony, and Kira turns, too, shocked and a little angry, and the next thing he knows he’s falling to his knees, barely catching himself with a trembling hand.  The sheer screaming pain that slices down every nerve leaving an inferno in its wake leaves him breathless, and Crazy Diamond fades back into him.

        He finally manages to take a breath, and it subsides to a new kind of pain.

        The pain is different than anything he’s ever experienced.  If he had to name it somehow, he’d say it’s the pain of a phantom limb, only he’s not missing any limbs.  It feels more like he’s missing part of his soul.  He glances down and his arm is already seethrough, like a ghost.

        ( _Calm down, Josuke-kun, it’s not like you’re turning into one of those creepy ghosts from a haunted house.  More like…Reimi-chan.  And it’s temporary; it has to be.  It’d be too powerful otherwise.  Though I probably only have until I disappear completely, if that American movie was any indication.  I just have to figure out how to beat it and this’ll all go away.  The User’s still a good bet.  I just have to beat up the User.  This isn’t the end.  I won’t let it be.)_


	26. Back in Time, Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josuke figures out how to get back to the future.

         This time, it feels almost natural to fade out, and it’s fading back into existence that feels unnatural.  He glances downward to see that both hands are see-through, and it’s getting harder to breathe (although why that’s true if he’s disappearing isn’t clear, given that he’s pretty sure ghosts don’t need to breathe, though the stories hadn’t really focused on that and neither had any of the anime).

         He’s on a street, huddled under an awning.  It’s raining.  He’s pretty sure it’s Morioh, too, but it also looks familiar for some other reason he can’t quite tell.  Of course, it should, if he’s visiting moments in his past subject to change.

         It’s hard to think.  It’s hard to look around and figure out where he is, but it’s required and just because he has a headache and it’s hard to think doesn’t mean he’s not going to do everything he can, because Josie and her son are counting on him.

         His poor hair really needs a brush right now, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have one and even if he did, as much as it hurts to think it, _he doesn’t have the time_.  That’s enough to get him thinking and breathing and feeling again.  He can fix things—his grandkid who grew up without a great grandfather, because if the dad was a bastard like the one he met when saving Josie, then he doesn’t have much hopes for the rest of the family either; his girl who grew up way too fast and she still should be in college, not forty years old and dealing with the consequences of a life she didn’t have to have lived.

         And then there’s pain again, because, well.  He’d been unplanned, the result of adultery, and it wasn’t good, it wasn’t good at all, but he was here, and without that Josie wouldn’t have been here either, and he now had a grandkid and given Josie’s interest in people in general maybe he wouldn’t have had a grandkid at all without all of this, and he’s sure the kid has to be a good person and he wouldn’t just wish him out of existence, right?  He’ll just hug the stuffing out of him instead and treat him to ice cream and movies and video games and make him feel wanted and loved because anyone great deserves that.

         But now he’s actually thinking about all of this, and processing it, and it’s motivation and feeling enough to get him to move past this, which is maybe what he needs.

         And then lightning strikes a Pepsi sign, and rain or no rain he moves out of his shelter.  It won’t bother a ghost, anyway.  Even the crusted blood is barely noticeable.

         He glances down the street.  That’s—isn’t that Rohan’s car?  And there’s the bastard of a mangaka—

         Who explodes.  First it’s just blood, gushing out like it’s decided evacuating the jerk’s body is the best idea he’s heard all year, and then he just _explodes_.  Like Shigechi.

         Only there’s nothing left.  Which they never find, later, but it’s one thing to know about the modus operandi and another thing to _witness someone explode until nothing’s left_.

         And then he has to hide behind the car, because everyone else is coming, and this time he doesn’t get to see everyone explode, but he hears it.  There’s a sense of déjà vu, terrifying and inevitable and it aches in a way that makes no sense.  Even the dialogue, the questions, are achingly familiar despite the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s never heard any of them ask those questions before.  And he knows the explosion’s coming, wincing and bracing himself for disappearing any second now and being teleported to the past where maybe it’ll be easier to find the User—

         And—hang on, wait a minute.  He’s still here.  His other self got exploded for knowing about Hayato and Kira, so why is he still here?  Why didn’t he get detonated along with his other self?  He’s not complaining; living is a great thing, but—

         He cautiously peeks over the side of the car, and—

         Yeah.  Hayato’s still standing there, looking shocked and confused.  It wasn’t a sure thing that he’d be there, of course, but he’d had a hunch.

         “Just to check, Kira’s Killer Queen just blew me up for asking you questions about him, right?” he asks, almost cheerfully, and suddenly he has energy again.  Great.

         Hayato almost has a heart attack until he realizes he’s still standing there, and so is Josuke.  He splutters for a bit before he settles on a somewhat lost, “I don’t understand.”

         He glances down and sees that one of his hands is normal again.  “Don’t worry about it, Hayato-kun.  Kira will be dealt with soon enough.  Right now, I need to deal with someone else putting Morioh in danger.”

         He looks around.  The User has to be panicking now.  He’s been seen by yet another person, which should have altered his fate even further, maybe even killed him, but instead he’s here, alive, feeling and looking better than normal.  It’s luck, but it takes skill to turn luck into victory, and that’s what he’s going to do.

         There’s one man who’s sweating, and when it’s raining that makes no sense.  He recognizes the face.  Oh, it’s younger than he remembers, but it’s the old man he’d helped cross the street before this all happened.  And having seen the difference now, the middle-aged man in Morioh-Cho earlier suddenly becomes familiar as well.  As usual, Jotaro-san was right.  The User accompanied him to every era, but as he changed age relative to the time period, he was less obvious, except in cases like this where an extra person would have been obvious, so he had to hide.

         He grins, and waves cheekily, and begins running.  In this case, all he has to do is use his mind, not his Stand, for victory.  Specifically, he remembers Koichi warning him about Reimi’s alley.  But the old man (or younger man, now) doesn’t look like he’s native to Morioh, so unless his Stand offers him a cheat code or something, the User doesn’t know about the alley.

         The confident grin, the running, those are designed to make the User panic even more, to get him to chase after without thinking about the fact that this might be a trap.  From the sound of the footsteps running after him, that little tactic is working.

         Fortunately, he gets around the corner before the User does, and he pulls out Crazy Diamond.  He punches the mailbox into the wall and slows down his pace.

         The User follows after, panting.  “What are you doing, Josuke?  You can’t escape Back in Time.  I’ll just teleport you to the next era, and the next, and the next.”

         “Oh?” Josuke asks without turning, despite the urge to see the man’s face as he does so.  It’s so tempting to see if the man is buying it, how he’s reacting, but from what Koichi says that’s probably the ghosts trying to trick him into turning around, and he’s terrified enough of ghosts that it’s enough of a deterrent.  Well, besides the whole dying thing, and the fact that he’s not sure that the guy will undo it or even that undoing it will mean anything if he’s dead.  “If that’s true, then why are my arms turning back to normal?”  He holds his hands up and does jazz hands with them, just to demonstrate his point.  “I avoided being exploded by Bites the Dust, too.  If Kira were here, he’d probably babble something about defying fate.  That’s how your powers seem to work, after all.  Hayato said people were ‘destined’ to die, after we asked him.  You play with the rules until someone makes a mistake, and then they’re ‘destined’ to fade away.  And yet I’m still alive.  Still here.”  Maybe not looking back now will give away his act, but it’s hard to tell, and it’s not as if he has a choice.  He’s not looking back.

         “Why won’t you look at me?” the User asks, and, well, that’s an easy enough question to misdirect.

         “Because of what’s behind you,” he answers, and fixes the mailbox he’s been keeping in stasis.  The sound’s enough.  He hears the man scream, but that’s all he really hears.

         Josuke’s vision whites out.

         The world fades back in, color slowly returning to the world like watercolor, and now he recognizes he’s on the other side of the street from the café where Okuyasu’s probably still waiting, staring at the map.  He glances over.

         The old man is wheezing on his back, and he feels a hint of guilt, but then he remembers what the Stand User put him through.

         “Back in Time should have been able to deal with…”  The man coughs.  “I was promised…my grandchildren…”

         “Josuke!  There you are!  Are you okay?”  Okuyasu yells and runs across the street, ignoring the honking of cars.

         He kneels at the old man’s side.  “Who’s promising?  Did someone kidnap your grandchildren or promise you money to give to your grandchildren in exchange for…a price on my head?”  That sounds like one of the American spy movies Josie dragged him to, but it also sounds like it describes the situation.

         The man passes out before he can answer the question, but the light in his eyes looks very much like the acknowledgement of truth he gets when he’s interrogating someone.  He may be a victim, but he’s also far too dangerous to be left on his own.

         “He’s a Stand User.  I beat him, but I’m not sure that there’s a Speedwagon Foundation to take care of him,” he tells Okuyasu and takes out his phone.

         Crazy Diamond appears to heal the man, too.

         “What did he do?”  Okuyasu is looming, but then, he always does that when one of his friends is hurt.

         “And…why are you wearing your gakuran?”  He sounds confused, now, but Josuke ignores him.

         “Hello, Jotaro-san.  I have a rogue Stand User here.”  He pauses.  “What do I do with him?”

         “I’ll send Rihan and Sakura.  They should be close enough.”  Jotaro-san sounds a little concerned, but better than before.

         “Actually,” a voice he’s heard twice before interrupts (and that might be a growl in the background from his nephew), “…a few of my Slayers should be close.  We don’t have quite the worldwide presence we did, but we’re trying to be your Speedwagon Foundation.”  She sounds more cheerful than during the meeting.  “They should take him off your hands soon.  I’d think a witch would be able to hold one, right?”

         He thinks about that and shrugs.  “I don’t know.  I don’t think I’ve ever met one.”  The thought that ghosts might be real occurs to him, but he shrugs that off with a shiver.

         “Good luck finding Xander.  Even if he has weird powers now he’s still a trouble magnet.  By the way, you’re way cooler than his paternal grandfather, and you better stay that way or else.”  She hangs up.


	27. Back in Time: Stand Pic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picture of Back in Time.


	28. Concrete Jungle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jojo, Fitz, and Thief Girl (Darling) meet back up again, discuss Stand Attacks, and then see something else bizarre.

        Jojo feels a little worried when they finally find Darling emerging from the bathroom, tears in her eyes.  “Are you all right?” he asks her, enveloping her in a hug, and his instincts are correct because while she flinches a little the way she hugs him back means she needed this more, for once.  
        “One of your relatives is in danger,” she manages, “…and he was gonna kill you both and I _like_ you…”  She bites her lip to stem the flow of words.  “But I saved you, so no need to worry.”  
        “We fought a Stand User too.”  Fitz looks worried, but Xander sees something different about her.  She’s…stronger, in a word.  Doesn’t look quite as scared.  It’s strength in her eyes.  “But good job.”  An afterthought.  Are all British people so socially inept?  Johan rolls his eye.  
        “He turned Whisper against me,” she whispers, and the snake curls close to her shoulder as if to reassure, “…and Whisper’s been my only friend for so long, but it was okay, because I managed to fix it.  Me.”  She finally pushes him away, and her eyes are watery but still with this new confidence.  Probably because she hadn’t managed anything like that before.  She’d overcome her fear.  Jojo remembers how liberating that can be.  
        “Thank you.”  He gives her a honest smile and a thumb’s up, and she smiles, shy but genuine.  Then he looks at Fitz.  “And besides, my family, adopted or blood, are strong.  I have to believe in them, right?”  
        _Speedwagon should definitely smile more often_ , Johan thinks.  _It makes him look less like Giles and more like the younger person I’m pretty sure he is.  
        _“You get another gold star,” he agrees.  
        “Yipee!” he yells and laughs at the way Fitz’s expression freezes.  “You really need to loosen up.”  
        “Forgive me if I don’t fully trust your judgment there,” Fitz states sarcastically.  
        “As much fun as it is, I think I’ve had enough of the mall. What about you?” he asks, realizing that so far they’ve been lucky, but if they keep being attacked in a place with a lot of people, there are bound to be casualties.  
        “Let’s go!” the other two respond together.  
        Fitz is clearly a little impatient as Xander briefly gets sidetracked by buying a duffel and tools, but he feels odd about leaving the Stand information by itself even if the place is abandoned, and he’d like to fix a few things like doors and locks if only as a meditation-like activity.  He’s had practice carrying around his life in a duffel lately, and to be honest he kind of misses it.  He’ll wait to start fixing things until _after_ he reads the Stand information, though, since judging by recent events that actually is more than a little important.  And he won’t fix anything too obvious—including the windows, unfortunately.  No reason to give people the idea to start poking around.  
        They start walking back to the abandoned apartment building.  Xander’s still on edge, which is why he jumps when Fitz taps him on the shoulder.  “Did you see movement?” he asks, unusually serious, and in response Jojo slows his breathing until it’s steady, mindful, and reaches out with his mind.   
        “Whatever it is, it’s not alive.  But that doesn’t mean that it can’t be a Stand,” he warns, when he’s fairly sure he’s not missing anything.  
        “There!” Darling calls, and they glance over in time to see a stone gargoyle duck into the shadows of a building.  
        Johan blinks.  “Uh, Doctor, are Weeping Angels actually a thing?”  
        “You know that came in the form of a short story first,” Fitz lectures before sighing at the blank look.  “Never mind.  It’s good reading.  I recommend it.”  
        He feels someone else approaching at a decent speed, only it feels like it’s _up_.  It could maybe be a flying gargoyle, but he hadn’t sensed the other one, so if the Stand or witch or whatever is at all consistent, this means it’s someone else.  He turns and looks up.  
        And blinks.  (There’s a pun in there.  Probably.  But this isn’t the time.)  
        There’s a woman flying in on a metal hang glider.  She’s much higher up than anyone just on a hang glider has a right to be.  It’s really hard to get that lift (and now he’s got the slightest image of Joseph trying it, the big goofball), so she probably had to have jumped off the top of a building.  Her blonde hair is cut short, regulation even, and the black leather looks like something someone in the army would wear on their days off (well, not that he’d really seen that from Riley, but Riley was kind of a stealth army man, so maybe that didn’t count?).  The leather boots are seriously awesome.  She has a sword, a metal pair of binoculars, and a pistol at her side and a sniper rifle at her back.  
        He points silently, just in case he might give away her position to the gargoyle (assuming she’s not controlling them, anyway) and watches Fitz’s jaw drop.  
        “That’s illegal,” Fitz mutters quietly, and at Johan’s questioning eyebrow elaborates in a whisper, “…This isn’t America.  Gun rules are much more strict.”  
        Even as they watch, she glances in their direction and then in ease switches to one hand holding herself on the glider, the other pulling out the binoculars to get a better look at them.  She’s supporting her whole weight on one hand.  There’s something very familiar about her, but he can’t quite place it.  She’s definitely not Buffy, who he’d recognize anywhere, anywhen.  Is she a new Slayer, maybe?  She doesn’t look familiar, but it’s not like he knows half the Slayers since he was in Africa, and they’d kept him out of Council affairs since he got back.  
        Johan waves cheerily.  
        “Jojo!” Fitz hisses, even as the blonde looks confused.  
        “What, she’s gonna see us anyway,” he points out reasonably.  “We’re just standing in the middle of the street, in plain sight.  It won’t mean much now if she’s an enemy, and if she’s a friend, this’ll tell her we’re at least friendly.”  
        “You’re still a lunatic,” he mutters, but there’s a grudging respect for the plan that honestly Xander had thought out for more than a few seconds.  
        She secures her binoculars at her side again and reaches back up to the glider, effortlessly turning it and pulling it into a dive towards them.  They’ll meet her and figure out her intentions soon enough.


	29. Stand At Attention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jojo, Fitz, and Thief Girl (Darling) meet a new Stand User.

         Whoever this lady is, she clearly is either a Slayer or has military training.  Though, the soldier still present somewhere in his psyche points out reasonably that the two aren’t mutually exclusive.  Being a Slayer _was_ being drafted to a military post at which point you learned everything you possibly could in the hopes that at least some of it could keep you alive for just a little while longer.

         And, man, he’d thought he’d been getting better about being in his own head after years Watchering in Africa, but this was as depressing as teenagerhood.  Maybe Whisper really had shaken a few things loose.  At least he had Pretender and even a few new friends he’d picked up along the way to keep him on an even keel, especially when he can’t Tora any of the previous (dead!) Watcher’s Council bastards in the face.  He debates for all of two seconds before he decides that yes, defacing the tombstones or smashing their skeletons up would be too cruel, too morbid, even for him.  Which reminds him, vampire nest; he should pass the warning along, although he suspects that both he and the shinily new ISWC had more pressing concerns than just a stray possibly vicious pack of vampires, and really, his life might be kind of messed up when he can wish for the simple days of patrolling for supernatural bloodsuckers every night after, _shudder_ , homework.

         Point is, when he watches the way the blonde moves as she maneuvers midair with appreciation, he’s admiring her strength, her technique.

 _Goddess_ , he’s really hoping she’s not an enemy, because he’d hate to face _that_ , someone with that control, that much awareness of their own body and how to use it and, presumably, how to hurt others.  And, _oh_ , Willow’s got him doing it now.  Well, she’ll probably be happy that he’s swearing to her standards, or something, and he misses her and they really need to talk, but not now.  Obviously.

         Fitz has misread the situation, though, because he sighs.  Loudly.  Pointedly.  Like he’s checking her out, and, yes, he kind of does have a thing for blonds, especially strong, confident blonds, but that’s not important right now.  It’s easy enough to misread the situation, though, especially when bad timing is a Harris family tradition.  Though he’s not really a Harris anymore, huh?  Not really.  Which will never not be awesome.  “Please, Fitz, I’m not Joseph,” he mutters just loud enough for his friend to hear, and the eyebrows raise pretty high in response.  Although that’s unfair, because Joseph…

         For all Joseph behaved like a hyperactive child on candy, for every bit of that act that was genuine, there was also…it was also a smokescreen.  Nothing new there, then.  Playing dumb, playing the fool, to get others to underestimate you, to like you better, whatever was needed for the situation.  ‘Course, Joseph probably would be checking her out even as he evaluates her fighting style from simply her gliding in, or something.  Which he’s kind of doing, but more of the latter than the former.

         When she’s fairly close, he reaches inside for where Pretender hangs out, and feels the Stand stir in readiness.  If she plans to use any of her admittedly pretty weapons on them, he’ll be ready.

         She touches something on the crossbar of the glider, and the wing retracts, sending her falling.  By the way she controls her body like it’s a simple dive into your average neighborhood pool and rolls into a short run toward them, unhurt, Johan can tell she’s an expert.  That she’s done this, regularly, and for some reason no one’s filed a report with ISWC.

         That he knows of.

         He gets that being in Africa was important and all that, but seriously, he was out of the loop for way too long with stuff like this.

         She gives a short bow, like she’s an old-fashioned duelist and they’re all going to draw old-fashioned foils or giant pistols or something.

         And then in the space of a blink there’s a cyborg behind her, guns at the ready.  It’s weird enough to be a Stand, but there’s something awfully familiar about it.  He hasn’t dreamt of it recently enough to recognize it, though.  Maybe he’ll schedule that, if he can figure out how.  Then again, it’s Pretender who’s somehow involved, so it doesn’t really matter if he consciously knows how as long as his Stand does.

         Of course, that doesn’t help him if he gets shot now.  He feels the weird invisible water to his left, so LJ is out, and he feels both Darling and Whisper shuffle closer behind him, clinging.

         He swallows.  It’s probably good that he’s here and not Buffy or Willow, since they would completely wig out at the sight of a gun, but he’s not all that comfortable with them either.  He has a theory, though.  Or, well, it doesn’t have enough substance to be a theory.  More like a fleeting instinct.

         He raises his hands.  A careful surrender.  He doesn’t call out Pretender, even when he can feel his Stand stirring restlessly in his mind, worried for his safety.

         “What are you doing?” Fitz hisses under his breath, but he doesn’t look, doesn’t dare take his eyes off the woman.

         “If she was our enemy, one of those Stand Users we’ve been running into in this ridiculous Team Tryout, she would’ve just shot us down in the street, and there’s probably nothing even you could do about it,” he responds, feeling sure about this.  Maybe, like the others, it’s just that she has an ego.  Maybe she wants to gloat.

         It’s a gamble.  “She pulled her Stand out as a test, isn’t that right?  Figure out if we were Stand Users?”

         She stares with piercing blue eyes at him, face a blank mask (and _there’s_ a few nightmares that’ll come back to haunt) before she demands, with an accent that he almost but doesn’t quite place, “Show me your Stand.”

         He blinks, lost.  “Excuse me?”  Maybe he’s wrong.  Maybe she’s the type who has some sort of weird, ridiculous honor code about not killing an opponent who hasn’t called their Stand, or something.  Can the Ripple stop a bullet?  But no, even if it could, that looks like some sort of automatic weapon, and he can’t stop that many bullets.  There’s The World via Star Platinum, but he hasn’t dared try to stop time, not with the growing dread he thinks originates from Pretender any time he gets a little too close to those memories of Jotaro’s.

         “Show me your Stand,” she repeats, even colder, spine ramrod straight, and—yeah, that’s a regulation at ease stance.  He recognizes it from Halloween so many years ago.  She’s military trained.

         He bites his lips quietly, nervous, vaguely aware that’s a new habit, and calls to the Pretender to appear, without any sudden movements that could be construed as an attack.  He’s not sure how trigger happy she is, after all, and it’s not just him in the firing line.  At least the added solid presence at his back is a comfort.


	30. Echoes of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johan, Fitz, and Darling have a chat with the new Stand User.

         She takes a quick look at Pretender and instantly relaxes.  It’s not that obvious to an untrained eye, but the relief and the way her eyes soften is a big clue.  “You have not been harming civilians,” she states, but he’s pretty sure it’s actually a question.

         “Trying to save them, actually.  It’s what I’ve been doing for seven years,” he answers, honest and respectful, and tries to dredge up every memory of The Soldier and shove it into his demeanor.

         It must work, because after a long moment of merely eyeing them all, she relaxes further and reaches to her belt, replacing the gun at her side.

         Fitz nearly rushes her, but Xander casually elbows him, sending him reeling and coughing for air.

         She raises one blonde eyebrow and pulls what looks like a short-range two-way radio from her belt.  “Cyborg to Hood, do you copy?”

         They hear a sigh from the other side.  “Do we really have to use all the military—”  There’s something about his voice, too, that’s familiar, but Jojo can’t place it, either.

         The man’s cut off.  “Do you copy?” she repeats impatiently.

         “Copy, over,” her partner responds, and if the tone is any indication he’s rolling his eyes.

         She sighs and rubs her forehead a little, the Stand fading away.  “Hood, they are non-hostiles, over.”

         “Oh, good, I don’t have to shoot people today,” the voice responds cheerfully.

         There’s an awkward pause before the voice adds sulkily, “Over.”

         “You haven’t seen any sign of the User, correct?” she asks, a little frustrated.

         “I would’ve called you the second I noticed anything.  Which I haven’t.  Though it’s affecting all the statues in the city, so it must be here.”  Instantly Xander realizes what they’re talking about—they’re looking for the Stand User creating the moving stone gargoyles.  Which has apparently hurt civilians.  Which means that the only thing to do is to offer to help.  And as much as Fitz might grumble, he’d agree that it’s the right decision.

         Of course, there’s Darling.  He doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable.  This isn’t her fight, and she’s only a kid.  It’s not like he’s going to forbid her from joining in, because he knows he hated that coming from Giles or the other Scoobies, but he’s going to give her a choice.  He would’ve appreciated that.  If she doesn’t want to join in, he’ll ask Fitz to protect her and go with the military lady and the voice over the phone to deal with this.  After all, she’d just lost her parents to violence, was (while a thief) opposed to violence, and had participated in her first Stand battle, which certainly had helped her overall confidence, but he didn’t expect it had made her more likely to seek out or enjoy battle.

         “And I didn’t see your grandfather, either,” the voice continues, and all of Johan’s rapidly moving thought processes grind to a halt.

         “Hello, Non-hostile #2 here, you said her grandfather?  What about her grandfather?” he asks loudly, before he can double-guess himself.

         “You seem like you’ll fit right in,” the voice welcomes him cheerfully.  “Stand User, or student of Sendo?”

         “Both,” he answers honestly, ignoring the suddenly appraising glance and long, impressed whistle coming from the radio.  “Though new at the use of both,” he adds, honestly.  “If there’s someone hurting innocents, I want to help stop them.”

         The woman looks him over, probably assessing his use as an ally, and he salutes her instantly.  His clothing isn’t quite right, but he manages to get if not a completely perfect salute, a close enough approximation.

         Although Fitz messes up his heel placement a little when he kicks sideways at him like a restless horse.

         And then she starts laughing.  Like Buffy, it’s not a small, feminine laugh, but a large, body-shaking, everyone-in-the-street-can-hear laugh.  “I like you,” she announces to the world, almost bellowing.  “You have spirit.”

         He manages to mostly hide his smile.  “You didn’t explain about your grandfather.”

         “Her sense of priorities is sometimes a little…skewed,” her partner explains.  It’s long-suffering and it’s fond.  “I’ll see you all a lot closer.  We’re going to have to strategize with more people, anyway.  Hood out.”

         “We’ll talk as we go.”  She’s softened the bellow to just slightly above average.  “We’ve been receiving surreptitious communications about ‘opportunities for Stand Users’.  I don’t think they realized Robin was not a Stand User.”  Probably Hood.  Robin Hood?  Was that an actual name, or was that a joke?  Then again, he’s heard the Slayers call him Sergeant Fury, so it’s not like he has room to talk.  “Joining an organization, getting benefits.  It mentioned a ‘test’.  Robin and I were investigating the source to learn more.  There have been a lot of attacks on Stand Users lately, so we believe that this organization, whoever they are, are trying to gain total control over Stand Users.  Either you’re with them or against them.”

         “That matches what we’ve learned so far,” Xander agrees, effortlessly dodging another elbow coming in his direction.  He stumbles a little as Darling practically buries herself in his side, but spares her a reassuring smile and throws an arm around her shoulder.  It’s scary, and they haven’t really had time to talk about it, but that’s okay.  They will.

         “Opa Kaulitz was in the hospital with a fever for months.  He disappeared from the hospital, but we found a similar envelope in his room.  He must have, what is the correct term, developed a Stand?”  The slap is loud and startles him, until he realizes she’s slammed a fist into her own hand.  “I’m German and proud.  I can take care of myself!  But my father’s side of the family never wanted to know much about my mother’s side, so he never knew how strong I was.  I’m still the little blonde girl stealing some of his beer on holidays.”

         “Oh, yeah, before we go any further,” he interrupts, not wanting her to get into a ‘I am Slayer; Must Roar’ rant if only because he’s heard it a thousand times before and it never gets any less intimidating from women who could easily twist him into a pretzel and break every bone.  “This is Fitz and Darling.  You know what the Stand you’re looking for looks like?”

         She pivots on her heel and bows to the other two, walking backwards without breaking stride.  “Yes, though I’ve only seen it from a distance through my binoculars.  It’s a large Western stone dragon, larger than any normal statue.”

         “Those are some nice binoculars,” Fitz admits grudgingly, still quietly furious.  That Xander had acted without even asking him, probably, although he’s fairly certain that following his instincts saved them.  Hopefully, he won’t end up storming off, because the last time he’d done that Jojo had barely survived the emotional fallout of losing a friend—

         “Of course they are!” she exclaims, back to firmly outdoor voice again.  “German manufactured goods are the best!”

         Johan suddenly stops walking, feeling like he’s walked face first into a solid wall (and, given the loudness of her voice, maybe it was made of her very words).  At least Fitz is getting over that weird British thing against touching, because he’s got a steadying hand on Xander’s shoulder which honestly he needs.  “Are you all right, Jojo?” he asks, not bothering to hide his worry behind manners.

         “Von Stroheim,” he gasps, and he’s pretty sure he’s in shock and is really pale.  He’s not sure why he’s so surprised about this.

         “I share my grandfather’s belief in the beauty of Germany, but I am no Nazi!” she snarls, and the anger in her eyes helps pull him a little out of it. 

         He’s still shaky, but he can manage a smile at her.  “I know.  Pretender helps me tap into the memories of my ancestors.  Let me properly introduce myself—Johan Higashikata, though you would probably better recognize me if I said Johan Joestar.  Joseph, though he never said so out loud, and probably used some less than complimentary words too, considered your maternal grandfather a friend.”

         It’s her turn to be surprised, though she handles it better.  They stand there, a pathetic parody of the stand-off from earlier, and then she hugs him.  She actually picks him up and drives all the breath out of his lungs.  He’s half convinced she’s a Slayer as well as a Stand User, because that much strength isn’t normal, unless—maybe, German science?

         “It’s possible to love people even when they’re imperfect, or maybe even awful.  Because no one’s just one thing,” Darling says thoughtfully, voice a whisper, and one-handed Jojo pulls her into the hug too.


	31. Promises for the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz, Jojo, and Darling meet von Stroheim's partner.

        “Hey, is this a scheduled group hug, or can anyone join?” a new voice asks, except—it’s not really new, is it?  It sounds familiar, and given the coincidence from earlier he’s half certain he’s right here, too, but he doesn’t need to confirm that now.

        Stroheim reaches out and pulls both the newcomer and a protesting Fitz in, of which Johan definitely approves.  Fitz, being a Brit, probably hasn’t gotten enough hugs in his life, and Darling, well.  She needs all the hugs she can get, because she’s probably deprived, and everyone needs more hugs.

        “It was scheduled, but…” and Johan pauses for effect, staring down at his hand like he’s holding a page of paper and is the bouncer at some club or something, “…would you look at that, it looks like you’re on the list of invitees.  You’re good.”

        The newcomer grins and glances at von Stroheim.  “I like this guy.  Can we keep him?”

        “He’s offered.  I don’t see why not,” the blonde points out.

        Fitz definitely growls.  “Because you can’t own a human being.”

        Xander places a calming, warning hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “I think someone needs to tell you about metaphors and other literary…things.”

        Green eyes turn to him, scandalized, and the Brit repeats incredulously, “Things?”

        Johan shrugs, a smile playing around behind the serious expression.  “I only learned a lot of things secondhand from Will.”  He lets Speedwagon fume for a bit, directs the anger toward himself, and then speaks again.  “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you, Fitz, but I’ve been fighting for a long time.  We didn’t have a lot of time to react.”  He casually leans against the nearby wall.  For whatever reason, it’s as easy to put one of his feet in a yoga-like pose as he’d failed miserably at yoga in years past, but it doesn’t really matter right now and he doesn’t really care.  “Besides, if I’d been wrong, LJ and Whisper would’ve been necessary.  You were my backup plan.”

        Von Stroheim nods approvingly, probably at the strategy involved, while Fitz doesn’t seem entirely appeased.  Yet.

        “How the hell do you just…just risk your life on a _feeling_?” the blond snarls eventually, hands balled into fists.

        “I’ve risked my life on less,” he answers easily, and then realizes by the fierce flash in his friend’s eyes that’s the wrong response.  “I managed to survive this long.”

        “I have no clue how,” Fitz mutters, clinging to his anger jealously.

        Xander just puts a friendly hand on his shoulder.  “I’ve been lucky.  I have the survival instincts of a Sunnydale native.  But most importantly—I’m not alone.  I have my friends and allies who’ve got my back.”

        “Damn it, Jojo,” the blond mutters, burying his head in his hands.

        “If you’re in the middle of a panic attack, we’re at our destination, so you can at least sit,” von Stroheim’s partner points out helpfully, pulling out a chair, into which Speedwagon sinks, barely aware.  He frowns.  “Wait—Jojo—”

        “The name you’ll probably recognize is Johan Joestar, yes.  You wouldn’t happen to be related to a mayor of New York City, would you?”  He’s grinning, because he half knows the answer already.

        “Damn,” and he’s grinning.  “Non-hostile #2, huh?  You sure know how to pick ‘em, Cap.  Robin Brown, nicknamed ‘Hood’ because my partner,” he nudges her, and she barely moves, “…has a weird sense of humor.”

        “And, likely, it has something to do with that bow you’ve got dismantled at your back,” Fitz joins in, and Xander blinks and immediately glances at Robin.  How _had_ he missed that?  Buffy would be jealous.  She’d want a nice, stylish bag to carry all her weapons, too.

        “Yeah, it does.  Welcome back to the world of the unpanicking,” he chuckles.  “I use hamon and a bow.  It wouldn’t work half as well without natural oil.”

        “Have you run that by the Major?” Johan responds automatically, and waves it off when he just gets blank stares.  “It’s a reference, don’t worry about it.  That’s pretty cool.”

        “Captain Beefheart von Stroheim,” she introduces herself.  “I am here by leave of the German government.”

        Jojo narrows his eyes before realizing why.  “Oh, yeah, isn’t Germany more aware of the supernatural than most nations on average?  Since…the Grimm brothers, or something?  And I vaguely remember something about taking up a Van Helsing style crusade to make up for the World Wars…”

        He notices Fitz has completely lost his angry look, replaced by sheer impressed confusion.

        Xander sighs.  “I may have slightly misrepresented myself at your bookstore.  I did read growing up, other than comic books, but most of that was, well.  Not under protest, but not entirely voluntary, either.  A means of survival.  Your average _Malleus malificarum_?  Well, actually, I wasn’t allowed to read that one, because I have this weird tendency to set things on fire or summon things or other nasty consequences when I read texts like that out loud, but books like that, history and specifics of the supernatural, I’ve read and practically memorized.”

        Fitz flushes for some reason.  Probably because he’s realizing he’s underestimated Johan again, not that Xander hadn’t enjoyed it.  “What languages do you _speak_ , Jojo?”  He’s definitely a little bit in awe.

        He laughs.  “Speak?  English, British, and…”  He stops, then continues, slower, “Oddly enough, Japanese.  And a little Italian, ‘cause of bisnonna Suzi Q and I don’t even want to count how many greats grandmother Lisa Lisa.  Though she is pretty great.”  He pauses, letting that sink in, because it’s still a little shocking, all this stuff he doesn’t realize he actually knows through Pretender.  “But mostly, I don’t speak languages because bad things happen when I do.”

        The blond raises an eyebrow, and he grins and waggles his in return and continues.

        “Mostly, I read dead languages.  Latin, Sumerian, Egyptian, Ancient Chinese, Aklo, Aratuscan, Primordial Sanskrit.  A few things in other languages.  I probably couldn’t be conversational with any of them if I wanted to, because I’m much less likely to know the word for ‘pizza’ than I am the words for ‘human sacrifice’.”

        “Because any of the languages you listed are likely to have the word for ‘pizza’,” Fitz mutters.

        “They don’t?  Savages!” he reacts with shock, holding his hand over his heart, and that causes Darling to laugh.

        A good sound.  She probably hasn’t laughed enough in her life.  Which he’ll fix as much as he can.

        “I’m noticing a similarity between you and our newfound allies,” Speedwagon remarks, ignoring the last comment.  “You seem to want to hold all your strategy meetings over food.”

        “An army marches on its stomach,” von Stroheim declares definitively and loudly, and the remark effectively ends that line of thought.


	32. Bonding and Strategy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two new members of the team sit down to eat and strategize with Jojo, Fitz, and Darling.

        “So, your Stand is…” Xander asks, mouth full, because actually fitting some of Fitz’s expectations is probably good for his morale, right?

        Or, given the expression he’s making, maybe not.

        “Panzermensch.  I have access to a number of weapons, and my Stand is a robot or cyborg,” Stroheim answers before taking another forkful of whatever pastry she seems to have ordered.

        Johan considers mentioning that that sounds a little like the other Stroheim, but as proud as she is of her other grandfather, he’s also a little bit of a touchy subject, and he does, occasionally, have the ability not to just say every dumb thing on his mind and a sense of self-preservation.  “Do you know anything about your grandfather Kaulitz’s Stand?  Is it the gargoyle thing?”

        Hopefully the look of disgust isn’t a remark on the food, but he’s enjoying whatever he ended up ordering.  He wasn’t paying attention, mostly, because Fitz was still upset and Darling’s still being really quiet and he hopes it’s just shyness.

        “I don’t believe so.  A few dozen civilians have been slaughtered.  We only briefly saw the dragon statue.  It was large enough it wasn’t from one of the buildings.  I was trying to scout around it, to see if the User was following on the ground, but there was no sign of one, and I lost track of the dragon.”  She sighs.  “I have a hard time believing Opa has the will to kill others.”

        Johan grimaces, before a thought occurs to him.  “Well, that’s certainly true.  A Stand User has the will to fight, or they couldn’t control their Stand, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that they actually want to kill anyone, right, Darling?”

        She starts, distracted from listlessly picking at her food.  “What?”  That look of hope, of _gratefulness_ in her eyes, like she’s shocked anyone would include her in the conversation…

_Just treat her like she’s Dawn.  I mean, not quite, ‘cause they have different issues and history, but I should’ve remembered to include her before now._

        “Oh!  Oh yeah.”  She’s smiling, wide and happy, now.  “I’m a thief.  I don’t want to actually hurt anyone.  Your grandfather’s probably like me.”

        Actually, it’s slightly less likely, given the will to fight that’s required to survive being hit with a Stand Arrow, and that an extremely peaceful person like Holly would get Stand Sickness instead.  As far as he knows, either Darling was a lot more violent when she was younger, or she was born with the Stand.  Which…wait, means that one of her birth parents probably had a Stand.  Still, given the statistics of Stand User death, means that a Stand User orphan isn’t the most unbelievable thing he’s heard, and even if it was, he’s seen a lot of unbelievable, very clearly true things.  But he doesn’t want to bother her with that, either, so he doesn’t say that, either.

        “You probably shouldn’t be declaring your criminal status so loudly to the restaurant,” Robin chuckles.  “Do you want one of these octopus appetizer things?”

        “Sure, I want to try!” she agrees shyly, and leans forward, fork in hand, which makes Xander realize…

        “Oh, hey, you were watching us way back when Fitz was telling his story.”  He senses the movement and only ducks out of the way enough to lessen the pain from the Brit cuffing him.  “Ow, what.”

        “It really took you that long to notice, Jojo?”  Speedwagon sounds annoyed, but with a glance over, Johan sees the fond expression in his eyes.

        Robin laughs again, and even Darling giggles, and if nothing else, that’s good, that Brown might be able to get her to relax a little, because the Captain clearly isn’t going to do that.

        “Whatever, Mr. Observant showoff.”  He steals Fitz’s hat and promises to himself that he’ll play keep-away for as long as he can during this strategy meeting.  It’ll be good training for multitasking.  “So, we’ll have to check how efficient we are at fighting gargoyles.  I’d guess that they’re still not actually alive, so our mysterious Sendo ways probably won’t do much, but it’ll be good to know that.  Given the lack of statues and gargoyles I saw outside when we were walking here, the unknown Stand User probably has an army of them, so any way we can cut down on their numbers would be nice on the scale of knowing.”  He switches the hat to his other hand and twirls it on one finger.  The blond stops reaching for it, looking frustrated.  “I might, possibly, be able to control a few, too, with _Mirroring Your Stand_ , but I kinda have the idea that I have to have some clue of the User’s character before I can get in their heads like that.  Pretender’s got the usual Tora rush punch, so I can, _maybe_ , dust them normally, assuming the enemy Stand doesn’t give them extra durability.”  He carefully transfers the hat to his elbow, trying to decide whether keeping it on the left side of his body is kind of cheating, since Fitz doesn’t have much of a chance to try to retrieve it unless he reaches further across the table than a private, personal space kind of person like the Englishman is willing to go.  He suspects Captain Stroheim is letting him just ramble on to test his strategy-making skills.  “I don’t know how involved you want to be, Darling.  If you want to step out entirely, I wouldn’t hold that against you.  We’d probably have you doing something sneaky, but I’m not sure what.”

        Darling and Robin exchange glances.  “We’ll figure out some way to help,” they decide in unison, and Xander nods at them, trying to stay solemn despite the smile that wants to break out.

        “Well, it might not be the glamourous bit, but I spent years doing civilian rescue, and don’t discount it.  Anything to minimize casualties is good.”  A thought occurs to Jojo, and this time he doesn’t bother to hide the grin.  “Actually, in addition to being our healer—which he can’t heal anybody back from the dead, so don’t get yourself dead—maybe Fitz could do something with LJ’s water stuff and Robin’s arrows?”

        “I see they don’t have thesauruses in America,” Fitz responds with an eyebrow raise, but he’s smiling, which means he sees exactly what Johan’s getting at and just doesn’t want to acknowledge that out loud.

        Or this is still payback for earlier.  Given Giles and Ethan, maybe Englishmen just don’t let go of grudges easily, and deal with them in a different way than everyone else.  It’s not like he knows; he hasn’t been here all that long, and he suspects Jonathan’s and Joseph’s memories aren’t the most reliable of survey groups.  Also, that maybe Dio isn’t the most representative member of the United Kingdom, either.

        “They do.  We just don’t read them unless we’re stuffy old librarians.  Who I think you should meet, besides putting him to sleep.  I think you’d get along.  I’m still a little surprised you’re not wearing tweed.” 

        What feels like a spray of water hits his arm and knocks the hat straight onto Fitz’s head.  He now looks insufferably smug.  “What can I say, I’m not a tweed sort of bloke,” he responds.  If he’s not going to talk about how he just used Lotus Juice to get his hat back in a move that was…actually not cheating, given that your Stand is an extension of yourself, then Jojo isn’t either.  “That leaves you and the Captain as our front line offensive.”

        They all nod, and it becomes a more normal meal and conversation, with mostly Fitz and Robin speaking the most and occasional interjections from Darling.  It’s kind of fun listening to them bond, and Xander’s hungry.  He suspects Stroheim rarely talks, which makes the choice of Brown as her partner make some kind of sense—someone who can fill the silences like Willow but with the calm of Oz would be invaluable for a person like that.  He’s still not sure how they met or why an American is working with a German army officer, but they’ll have time for more stories later.


End file.
